V 


Ci^e  pot^tt  15006^ 


A  series  designedto  represent  the  three  aspects 
of  American  romance, —  adventure,  mystery 
and  humor 

The  Abiethyst  Box  By  Anna  Katharine  Green 
A  detective  story  of  a  Newjwrt  wedding 

The  House  in  the  Mist 

By  Anna  Katharine  Green 
A  tale  of  unexpected  fortunes.  Including 
also  The  Ruby  and  the  Caldron 

Enchantment  By  Harold  Mac  Grath 

Short  stories  of  whimsical  adventure 

The  PaiNCESS  Elopes    By  Harold  Mac  Grath 
An  extravagant  romance  of  a  European 
Duchy 

The'Motormaniacs  By  Lloyd  Osboume 

Tales  of  the  road  and  the  automobile 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/enchantmentOOmacgiala 


ENCHANTMENT 


By 
HAROLD  MAC  GRATH 

Author  of 

The  Man  on  the  Box,  The  Princess  Elopes, 

The  Puppet  Crown,  etc.,  etc. 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


copyuight  1905 
The  Bobbs-Merrill  Compaky 


April 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  00. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


SRLB 


ENCHANTMENT 

INCLUDING 

A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

The  Adventure  of  the  Lady  in  the  Closed  Carriage 

THE  BLIND  MADONNA 

The  Adventure  of  the  Golden  Louis 

NO  CINDERELLA 

The  Adventure  of  the  Satin  Slipper 

TWO  CANDIDATES 

An  Adventure  in  Love  and  Politics 

THE  ENCHANTED  HAT 

The  Adventure  of  My  Ladyl  Letter 


I 


TO  f 

MRS.  ANDREW  J.  COOPER 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 


A  NIGHT'S  ENCHANTMENT 

THE  ADVENTUKE  OF  THE  LADY  IN  THE 
CLOSED    CAREIAGE 


So  much  <3epended  upon  every  one's  utter 
lack  of  nervousness  and  embarrassment  that 
Shaw,  the  stage  manager,  decided  that  my 
presence  at  the  final  rehearsal  would  only  add 
to  the  tension,  and  was  therefore  unnecessary. 
The  "star"  complained  that  her  efforts  to  in- 
terpret my  hnes  to  my  satisfaction  were  wear- 
ing her  thin,  while  the  "leading  man"  de- 
clared that  he  could  not  enter  naturally  into 
the  spirit  of  the  comedy  so  long  as  he  knew 
I  was  watching  from  across  the  front. 

To  tell  the  truth,  I  was  not  unagreeable. 
There  were  many  things  I  wanted  to  change, 
and  I  knew  that  if  I  once  got  headway  I 
should  have  to  write  the  play  all  over; 
and  that  was  not  in  the  contract.    My  room 


A     NIGHT'S     ENCHANTMENT 

was  better  than  my  company.  So  Shaw  gave 
me  a  card  to  The  Players  and  left  me  there  in 
the  care  of  a  distinguished  fellow  dramatist. 

We  had  a  capital  dinner,  and  our  exchange 
of  experiences  would  have  made  a  book  equal 
in  length  to  Revelation.  What  a  time  a  fel- 
low has  to  get  a  manager  to  listen  to  a  better 
play  than  he  has  yet  produced!  I'm  afraid 
that  we  said  many  uncomplimentary  things 
about  actors  in  general  and  managers  in  par- 
ticular. The  actor  always  has  his  own  idea, 
the  manager  has  his,  and  between  them  the 
man  who  wrote  the  play  is  pretty  well 
knocked  about.  But  when  the  play  is  pro- 
duced every  one's  idea  proves  of  some  use,  so  I 
find. 

In  spite  of  the  good  dinner  and  the  inter- 
esting conversation,  I  found  myself  glancing 
constantly  at  my  watch  or  at  the  clock,  think- 
ing that  at  such  and  such  a  time  to-morrow 
night  my  puppets  would  be  uttering  such  and 
such  a  line,  perhaps  as  I  wanted  them  to 
utter  it,  perhaps  as  they  wanted  to  utter  it. 
It  did  not  matter  that  I  had  written  two  suc- 

4 


A     NIGHT     S     ENCHANTMENT 

cessful  novels  and  a  popular  comedy;  I  was 
still  subject  to  spells  of  diffidence  and  green- 
ness. Much  depended  upon  this  second  effort ; 
it  was,  or  it  was  not,  to  establish  me  in  New 
York  as  a  playwright  of  the  first  order. 

I  played  a  game  of  billiards  indifferently 
well,  peered  into  Booth's  room  and  evoked  his 
kindly  spirit  to  watch  over  my  future,  smoked 
incessantly,  and  waited  impatiently  for 
Shaw's  promised  telephone  call.  The  call 
came  at  ten-thirty,  and  Shaw  said  that  three 
acts  had  gone  off  superbly  and  that  every- 
thing pointed  to  a  big  success.  My  spirits 
rose  wonderfully.  I  had  as  yet  never  experi- 
enced the  thrill  of  a  curtain  call,  my  first  play 
having  been  produced  while  I  was  abroad. 
If  they  called  me  before  the  curtain  my  cup 
was  full;  there  was  nothing  left  in  the  world 
but  to  make  money,  all  other  thrills  having 
come  and  departed.  All  at  once  I  deter- 
mined to  run  up  town  to  the  theater  and 
steal  in  to  see  the  last  act.  So  I  called  for 
my  hat  and  coat,  apologized  to  my  friend, 
and  went  forth  into  the  night — and  romance ! 

5 


A     NIGHT     S     ENCHANTMENT 

Gramercy  Park  is  always  still  at  night, 
quiet  even  in  the  very  heart  of  turmoil.  Only 
an  indefinable  murmur  drifted  over  from  the 
crowded  life  of  Broadway.  I  was  conning 
over  some  lines  I  thought  fine,  epigrams  and 
fragmentary  philosophy. 

"Hurry !    We  have  only  half  an  hour !" 

The  voice,  soft  and  musical,  broke  the  si- 
lence ere  ray  foot  had  left  the  last  step. 
Amazed,  I  looked  in  the  direction  whence 
came  this  symphony  of  vocal  allurement.  A 
handsome  coupe,  with  groom  and  footman, 
stood  at  the  curb.  A  woman  in  evening  gown 
leaned  out.  I  stopped  and  stared.  The  foot- 
man at  the  door  touched  his  hat.  I  gazed  over 
my  shoulder  to  see  if  any  one  had  come  out  of 
the  club  at  the  same  time  as  myself.  I  was 
alone. 

"Hurry!  I  have  waited  at  least  half  an 
hour.    We  haven't  a  moment  to  waste." 

Some  one  in  the  upper  rooms  of  the  club 
lifted  a  shade  to  open  a  window,  and  the  light 
illuminated  her  features.  She  was  young  and 
very  handsome.    A  French  wit  once  said  that 

6 


A     NIGHT     S     ENCHANTMENT 

the  whisper  of  a  beautiful  woman  can  be  heard 
farther  than  the  loudest  call  of  duty.  Now, 
I  honestly  confess  that  if  she  had  been  homely, 
or  even  moderately  good-looking,  I  should 
have  pohtely  explained  to  her  that  she  had 
made  a  peculiar  mistake.  I  was  somebody 
else.  As  it  was,  with  scarce  any  hesitation  I 
stepped  into  the  carriage,  and  the  footman 
closed  the  door.  To  this  day  I  can  not  ana- 
lyze the  impulse  that  led  me  into  that  car- 
riage :  Fate  in  the  guise  of  mischief,  Destiny 
in  the  motley  and  out  for  a  lark,  I  know  not 
which,  nor  care. 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting," 
said  I. 

"I  thought  you  would  never  come." 
Thought  I  would  never  come?  The  coup6 
started  off  at  a  rate  likely  to  bring  us  under 
the  vigilant  eyes  of  the  police.  We  pared  the 
corner  neatly  and  swung  into  Broadway,  go- 
ing up  town.  The  theaters  were  emptying, 
and  here  and  there  the  way  was  choked  with 
struggling  cabs ;  but  our  driver  knew  his  busi- 
ness, and  we  were  never  delayed  more  than  a 

7 


A     NIGHT'S     ENCHANTMENT 

moment.  Not  another  word  was  spoken  till 
we  reached  Thirty-fourth  Street.  I  was  si- 
lent because  I  had  nothing  to  say. 

"One  after  another  they  came  out.  I 
thought  you  would  never,  never  come.  I  had 
all  I  could  do  to  keep  from  going  into  the 
club  after  you !"  She  tore  off  her  long,  white 
gloves  and  flung  them  (savagely,  I  thought) 
into  her  lap. 

Going  into  the  club  after  me?  Heavens! 
What  a  scandal  I  had  escaped!  What  the 
deuce  was  it  all  about,  anyway .''  Who  was  I  ? 
What  was  expected  of  me.''  My  nerve  lost  a 
particle  of  its  strength,  but  I  could  not  back 
out  now.  It  was  too  late.  I  was  in  for  some 
sort  of  excitement.  I  had  always  been  skep- 
tical about  mistaken  identity.  This  was  to 
be  my  conversion. 

"You  will  never  forgive  me,  I  know,  for 
waiting  outside  a  club  for  you."  She  snug- 
gled over  to  her  side  of  the  carriage. 

"Yes,  I  will !"  I  replied  with  alacrity.  Who 
wouldn't  forgive  her.?    I  moved  closer. 

The  blue  light  of  the  arc-lamps  flashed  into 

8 


A    night's    enchantment 

the  window  at  frequent  intervals.  Each  time 
I  noted  her  face  as  best  I  could.  It  was  as 
beautifully  cut  as  a  Cellini  cameo,  and  as  pale 
as  ivory  under  friction.  You  will  laugh. 
"They  are  always  beautiful,"  you  will  say. 
Well,  who  ever  heard  of  a  homely  woman  go- 
ing a- venturing.'*  Besides,  as  I  remarked,  it 
wouldn't  have  been  an  adventure  if  she  had 
been  homely,  for  I  shouldn't  have  entered  the 
carriage.  To  be  sure,  I  was  proving  myself 
a  cad  for  not  enhghtening  her  as  to  her  error 
in  the  matter  of  identification;  but  I  was  hu- 
man and  young,  and  rather  fond  of  my 
Stevenson,  and  this  had  all  the  charm  and 
quality  of  the  New  Arabian  Nights. 

"It  is  all  so  terrible !"  Her  voice  was  tense ; 
there  was  a  note  of  agony  in  it  that  was  real. 
She  was  balling  her  handkerchief,  and  I  could 
see  that  her  fingers  were  long  and  white  and 
without  jewels,  though  I  caught  the  intermit- 
tent glimmer  of  a  fine  necklace  circling  an 
adorable  throat.  What  a  fine  chance  for  a 
rascal ! 

I  wondered  if  she  would  have  me  arrested 

9 


A     NIGHT'S     ENCHANTMENT 

when  she  found  out?    Was  I  married,  single, 

a  brother,  a  near  friend?     What  the  deuce 

^.  ■ 

was  her  trouble?  Ought  I  to  kiss  her?^  My 
double  was  a  fortunate  duffer.  How  I  envied 
him! 

"Women  are  so  silly  sometimes.  I  do  not 
know  why  I  was  dragged  into  this,"  she  said. 

Dragged  into  what?  Had  a  crime  been 
committed,  or  had  some  one  run  away  with 
another  man's  wife?  Heavens!  we  might  be 
eloping  and  I  not  know  anything  about  it !  I 
shivered,  not  with  fear,  but  with  a  strange 
elation. 

'*How  could  I  have  done  it?  How  could  I? 
Terrible!" 

"It  must  be,"  I  admitted  readily.  No,  a 
woman  does  not  elope  in  her  ball-gown.  Per- 
haps we  were  going  after  the  trunks. 

"To  think  that  he  would  force  me  into  a 
thing  like  this !" — ^vehemently. 

"I  see  that  there  is  nothing  left  for  me  to 
do  but  to  punch  his  head."  I  thought  I 
was  getting  on  famously. 

She  gave  me  a  swift,  curious  glance. 

10 


JL    night's    enchantment 

"Oh,  I  am  brave  enough,"  said  I.  I  won-, 
dered  if  she  had  noticed  that  I  was  a  passably 
good-looking  man,  as  men  go. 

"What  is  done  is  done," — wearily.  "Ret- 
rospection will  do  us  no  good." 

"What  do  you  wish  me  to  do?"  I  asked 
presently. 

It  was  like  writing  a  composite  novel,  no 
one  knowing  what  the  other  chapters  were 
about.  I  had  already  forgotten  that  I  had 
written  a  play  which  was  to  be  produced  the 
following  night;  I  forgot  everything  but  the 
potent  charm  of  the  mystery  which  sat  beside 
me  and  which  I  was  determined  to  unravel,  as 
they  say  in  detective  stories. 

"What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  ?"  I  repeated. 

"I  will  tell  you  when  the  time  comes.  For 
your  own  sake,  be  advised  by  me  and  do  noth- 
ing rash.    You  are  so  impulsive." 

For  my  own  sake  do  nothing  rash:  I  was 
so  impulsive!  My  hand  wandered  toward  the 
door-latch,  and  fell.  No!  I  would  stick  it 
out,  whatever  happened. 

"You  are  not  afraid,  are  you.''"  she  asked, 

11 


A     NIGHT'S     ENCHANTMENT 

"Afraid  of  what?" — adroitly. 

"I  was  right  in  waiting  for  you," — simply. 

Maybe ;  that  remained  to  be  seen. 

We  crossed  under  the  Sixth  Avenue  "L," 
and  the  roar  of  a  passing  train  silenced  us  for 
a  time.  Who  was  I,  anyway.'*  Where  were 
we  going?  Why  didn't  she  call  me  by  some 
first  name  ?  So  far  she  hadn't  given  me  a  clue 
to  anything.    An  idea  came  to  me. 

*'Are  you  wise  in  taking  me  there  to- 
night?" I  asked.  This  was  very  cunning  of 
me. 

She  coughed  slightly  and  peered  from  the 
window.  "Ten  blocks  more !  Oh,  if  only  we 
dared  go  faster,  faster,  and  have  it  all  over 
with!" 

"A  policeman  would  delay  us  no  inconsid- 
erable time,"  I  cautioned.  "And  think  of  its 
being  reported  in  the  papers !  That  wouldn't 
help  matters.  They  are  bad  enough  as  they 
are."    Doubtless  they  were ! 

She  said  nothing. 

"Courage,  courage!"  I  said;  "all  will  end 
well."    At  least  I  sincerely  hoped  it  would  end 

12 


A     NIGHT     S     ENCHANTMENT 

well.  I  reached  over  and  touched  her  hand. 
She  withdrew  that  member  of  an  exquisite 
anatomy  as  suddenly  as  if  my  touch  had 
stung  her.  Once  more  I  found  myself  in  a 
maze.  Evidently,  whoever  I  was,  I  did  not 
stand  on  such  terms  with  her  as  to  be  allowed 
the  happiness  of  holding  her  hand.  And  I 
had  almost  kissed  her ! 

Then  a  horrible  thought  scorched  me.  I 
had  more  than  a  thousand  dollars  in  my  wal- 
let. I  snuggled  over  to  my  side  of  the  carri- 
age. The  newspapers  were  teeming  with  sto- 
ries of  new  bunko-games,  and  this  might  be 
one  of  the  classics  of  getting-rich-quick  on 
other  people's  money.  I  slyly  buttoned  up 
my  coat.    Anyhow,  it  was  chilly. 

On,  on  we  rolled;  light  after  light  flashed 
into  the  window,  gloom  followed  gloom. 

More  than  a  thousand  dollars  was  a  large 
sum  for  an  author  to  be  carrying  about ;  and 
if  the  exploit  turned  out  to  be  a  police  aiFair 
I  might  be  seriously  questioned  as  to  how  an 
author  came  by  so  large  a  sum.  Yet,  as  I 
thought  of  her  necklace,  I  felt  my  cheeks  grow 

13 


A     NIGHTS     ENCHANTMENT 

red  with  shame.  It's  so  hard  to  doubt  a  beau- 
tiful young  woman!  Still,  the  jewels  might 
not  be  real.  There  were  many  false  gems  in 
New  York,  animate  and  inanimate.  If  her 
jewels  were  genuine,  two  years'  royalties 
would  not  have  purchased  the  pear-shaped 
pearl  pendant  that  gleamed  at  her  throat.  If 
she  was  really  an  adventuress  she  was  of  a  new 
type,  and  worth  studying  from  the  ^am- 
atist's  point  of  view.  Had  she  really  mistaken 
me?  Quite  accidentally  I  touched  her  cloak. 
It  was  of  Persian  lamb.  Hang  it,  adventur- 
esses don't  go  around  in  Persian  lamb:  not 
in  New  York.  Ha!  I  had  it.  I  would  find 
out  what  she  was. 

I  leaned  over  quickly  and  kissed  her  cheek. 
There  was  not  a  sound,  only  I  felt  her  shud- 
der. She  wiped  with  her  handkerchief  the 
spot  my  lips  had  touched.  I  was  a  cad  and  a 
wretch.  When  she  did  speak  her  tones  were 
even  and  low. 

"I  did  not  quite  believe  that  of  you." 
"I  could  not  help  it !"  I  declared,  ready  to 
confess  that  I  was  an  impostor;   and  as  I 

14 


A     NIGHT     S     ENCHANTMENT 

look  back  I  know  that  I  told  the  truth  when 
I  said  I  could  not  help  it.  I  didn't  care 
where  the  carriage  went,  nor  what  the  end 
would  be. 

"And  I  trusted  you!"  The  reproach  was 
genuine. 

I  had  nothing  to  say.  My  edifice  of  suspi- 
cions had  suddenly  tumbled  about  my  ears. 

"I  am  sorry ;  I  have  acted  like  a  cad.  I  am 
one,"  I  said  finally. 

"I  was  helpless.  One  after  another  the  men 
we  trust  fail  us." 

"Madam,  I  am  a  wretch.  I  am  not  the  gen- 
tleman you  have  taken  me  for.  I  have  had 
the  misfortune  to  resemble  another  gentle- 
man." 

"I  never  saw  you  before  in  all  my  life,  nor 
any  person  that  resembles  you." 

I  gasped.  This  was  what  the  old  dram- 
atists called  a  thunderbolt  from  heaven.  I 
felt  for  my  wallet ;  it  was  still  in  my  pocket. 
Inconsistently,  I  grew  angry. 

"Then,  what  the  devil—!" 

"Do  not  add  profanity  to  ill-manners,"  she 

15 


A     NIGHT     S     ENCHANTMENT 

interposed.  "Perhaps  I  have  no  right  to  com- 
plain. There  is  the  door,  sir;  you  have  but 
to  press  the  button,  stop  the  driver,  and  get 
out.  I  am  in  a  terribly  embarrassing  posi- 
tion to-night,  one  which  my  own  folly  has 
brought  me  to.  It  was  absolutely  necessary 
that  a  gentleman  should  accompany  me  in 
this  carriage  to  my  destination.  When  you 
came  forth  from  your  club — ^the  only  club  the 
exact  location  of  which  I  am  familiar  with — 
you  appeared  to  be  a  gentleman,  one  I  could 
trust  to  accompany  me.  To  attract  your  at- 
tention, and  at  the  same  time  arouse  your 
curiosity,  I  had  to  resort  to  equivocal  meth- 
ods. It  is  an  adventure,  sir.  Will  you  see  it 
to  the  end,  or  shall  I  press  the  button?" 

"Permit  me  to  ask  a  question  or  two!"  I 
was  mightily  confused  at  the  turn  of  things. 

"Perfect  confidence  in  me,  or  I  shall  open 
the  door." 

"In  any  other  city  but  New  York — " 

"Yes  or  no !" — imperiously. 

"Hang  it,  madam !" 

Her  hand  went  toward  the  electric  button. 

16 


A     NIGHT     S     ENCHANTMENT 

*'To  the  end  of  the  world,  and  no  questions 
asked." 

Her  hand  dropped.  "Thank  you," — gen- 
tly. 

"Curiosity  is  something  we  can't  help ;  oth- 
erwise I  should  not  be  here,  ass  that  I  am! 
Chivalry  isn't  all  dead.  If  you  are  in  trouble 
depend  upon  me ;  only  I  must  be  back  in  New 
York  by  to-morrow  night." 

"You  will  not  leave  the  city.  You  have  no 
fear?" 

"I  should  not  be  here  else." 

"Oh,  but  you  must  be  imagining  all  sorts 
of  terrible  things." 

"I  am  doing  some  thinking,  I'll  admit. 
How  easily  a  woman  can  make  a  fool  of  a 
man !" 

"Sometimes." 

**I  am  a  shining  example.  How  you  must 
have  laughed  at  me!  A  pretty  woman  has 
more  power  over  a  man's  destiny  than  all  the 
signs  of  the  Zodiac  put  together.  And  it's 
natural  that  he  should  want  to  kiss  her.  Isn't 
it?" 

17 


A     NIGHT'S     ENCHANTMENT 

"I  am  not  a  man." 

*'A  saint  would  have  tripped.  Put  your- 
self in  my  place — " 

"Thank  you;  I  am  perfectly  satisfied." 

"A  beautiful  woman  asks  me  to  enter  her 
carriage — " 

"And,  thinking  that  I  had  mistaken  you  for 
some  one  I  knew,  you  kissed  me !" — derisively. 

"I  wished  to  learn  where  I  stood  in  your 
affections." 

**A  very  interesting  method  of  procedure !" 

"And  when  I  touched  your  hand  you  acted 
as  if  mine  had  stung  you." 

"It  did." 

**There's  no  getting  around  that," — re- 
signedly. "Shall  I  tell  you  frankly  what  I  at 
one  time  took  you  to  be.''" 

"If  it  will  relieve  your  mind." 

"Well,  I  believed  you  to  be  some  classic  ad- 
venturess." 

"And  you  are  sure  I  am  not.?" 

"Positive  now.  You  see,  I  have  considera- 
ble money  on  my  person." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  wise  for  you  to  hand  it 

18 


A    night's    enchantment 

over  to  some  policeman  to  keep  for  you  till 
to-morrow?  Do  not  take  any  unnecessary 
risks.  You  do  not  dream  into  what  I  am  lead- 
ing you." 

The  carriage  suddenly  stopped. 

"The  journey  is  at  an  end,"  she  said. 

"So  soon?" 

A  moment  later  the  door  opened,  and  I 
stepped  out  to  assist  her  to  alight.  She  waved 
me  aside.  We  stood  in  front  of  some  million- 
aire's palace.  It  was  golden  with  illumina- 
tion. Was  it  a  wedding  and  was  I  to  be  a 
witness?  Or  was  some  one  making  his  will? 
Perhaps  it  was  only  a  ball  or  a  reception.  I 
stopped  my  cogitations.  What  was  the  use 
asking  myself  questions?  I  should  soon  know 
all. 

"Follow  me,"  she  said,  as  she  lightly 
mounted  the  steps. 

I  followed.  .  .  .  Here,  in  New  York, 
the  most  unromantic  city  in  all  the  wide 
world!  I  was  suddenly  seized  with  nervous- 
ness and  a  partial  failure  of  the  cardiac  or- 
gans to  perform  their  usual  functions. 

19 


A     NIGHTS     ENCHANTMENT 

She  turned  to  me.    "There  is  yet  time." 

"Time  for  what?" 

"Time  to  run." 

"There  was  a  moment.  .  .  .  Lead  on," 
— quietly.  I  thought  of  the  young  man  with 
the  cream  tarts. 

She  touched  a  bell,  and  the  door  opened, 
admitting  us  into  the  hall.  A  servant  took 
our  belongings. 

"Dinner  is  served,  miss,"  said  the  servant, 
eying  me  curiously,  even  suspiciously. 

It  appeared  that  I  was  to  dine !  What  the 
deuce  did  it  all  mean?  A  dinner  at  supper- 
time!  A  very  distressing  thought  flashed 
through  my  mind.  Supposing  she  had  known 
me  all  along,  and  had  lured  me  here  to  witness 
some  amateur  performance.  I  shuddered.  I 
flattered  myself.  There  was  no  amateur  per- 
formance, as  presently  you  shall  see.  I  fol- 
lowed her  into  the  dining-room.  Fortunately, 
I  was  in  evening  dress.  I  should  at  least  be 
presentable,  and  as  cool  as  any  man  in  the 
room.  Comedy  or  tragedy,  or  whatever  it 
was  going  to  be,  I  determined  to  show  that  I 

SO 


A     NIGHT     S     ENCHANTMENT 

had  good  blood  in  me,  even  though  I  had  been 
played  for  a  fool. 

Around  a  table  covered  with  exquisite  lin- 
en, silver  and  glass  sat  a  party  of  elegantly 
dressed  men  and  women.  At  the  sight  of  us 
the  guests  rose  confusedly  and  made  toward 
us  with  shouts  of  laughter,  inquiry  and  ad- 
miration. They  gathered  round  my  compan- 
ion and  plied  her  with  a  hundred  questions, 
occasionally  stealing  a  glance  at  me.  I  saw 
at  once  that  I  stood  among  a  party  of  ultra- 
smart  people.  Somehow  I  felt  that  I  repre- 
sented a  part  in  their  mad  pastimes. 

"Where  did  you  find  him.?"  cried  one. 

"Was  it  difficult?"  asked  another. 

"I'll  wager  he  didn't  need  much  urging!" 
roared  a  gentleman  with  a  rubicund  nose. 

*'He  is  positively  good-looking!"  said  one 
woman,  eying  me  boldly. 

I  bowed  ironically,  and  she  looked  at  her 
neighbor  as  if  to  say :  "Why,  the  animal  un- 
derstands what  I  say !" 

"My  friends,"  said  the  girl,  waving  her 
hand  toward  me,  "I  have  paid  my  detestable 

21 


A     NIGHT'S     ENCHANTMENT 

forfeit."  Her  tones  did  not  bespeak  any  par- 
ticular enjoyment. 

A  wager!  I  stood  alone,  my  face  burning 
with  chagrin.  I  could  feel  my  ears  growing, 
like  the  very  ass  that  I  was.    A  wager ! 

"To  table!"  cried  the  gentleman  with  the 
rubicund  nose.  Evidently  he  was  host.  "We 
must  have  the  story  in  full.  It  certainly  must 
be  worth  telling.  The  girl  has  brought  home 
a  gentleman,  I'm  hanged !" 

The  guests  resumed  their  chairs  noisily. 

The  girl  faced  me,  and  for  a  space  it  was  a 
battle  of  the  eyes. 

"Will  you  do  me  the  honor.''"  she  said  half- 
mockingly,  nodding  toward  the  only  vacant 
chairs  at  the  table. 

"Would  it  not  be  wise  for  me  to  go  at 
once.''"  I  asked  quietly. 

"If  you  do  not  sit  at  the  table  with  me  I 
lose.  But  please  yourself," — wearily.  "It 
has  all  been  very  distasteful  to  me." 

"I  will  stay  to  the  bitter  end.  My  conceit 
and  assurance  need  a  drubbing."  I  offered 
her  my  arm.    All  eyes  were  centered  upon  us. 


A     NIGHT     S     ENCHANTMENT 

She  hesitated.  "We  might  as  well  go  through 
this  ordeal  in  a  proper  spirit  and  manner,"  I 
said.     I  rather  believe  I  puzzled  her. 

She  flushed  slightly,  but  laid  her  hand  on 
my  arm,  and  together  we  walked  over  to  the 
vacant  chairs  and  sat  down.  The  laughter 
and  hum  of  voices  ceased  instantly. 

In  faith,  I  was  becoming  amused.  They 
were  going  to  have  their  fun  with  me;  well, 
two  could  play  at  that  game. 


n 

The  host  rose,  and,  leaning  on  his  finger- 
tips, he  addressed  me:  "Sir,  all  this  doubt- 
less strikes  you  as  rather  extraordinary." 

"Very  extraordinary,"  I  repHed. 

"To  dine  under  such  circumstances  is  not 
accorded  to  every  man." 

"To  which  do  you  refer:  the  honor  or  the 
modus  operandi?" 

"Both.     Now,  an  explanation  is  due  you," 

"So  I  observe," — gravely. 


A      NIGHT      S      ENCHANTMENT 

"The  pleasure  is  mine.  To  begin  with,  per- 
mit me  to  introduce  you  to  my  guests."  One 
by  one  he  named  them,  the  ladies  and  gentle- 
men. I  had  heard  of  them  all.  Money  had 
made  them  famous.  "As  for  myself,  I  am 
Daniel  Ains worth;  this  is  my  home.  I  dare 
say  you  have  heard  of  me." 

*'I  have  won  money  on  your  horses,  sir," — 
with  all  the  gravity  of  expression  I  found 
possible  to  assume. 

My  remark  was  greeted  with  laughter. 

My  host,  composing  his  hps,  resumed. 
"And  now,  sir,  whom  have  I  the  honor  to  ad- 
dress .''" 

*'I  am  the  author  of  many  a  famous  poem," 
— tranquilly. 

"Ah!" 

**Yes;  anonymous.  Sir,  my  name  would 
mean  nothing  to  you  or  your  guests:  I  am 
poor." 

There  was  a  trace  of  admiration  in  the  girl's 
eyes  as  she  turned  her  head.  "Besides,"  I 
went  on,  "I  want  a  little  revenge." 

"Grood!"  bawled  my  host;  "good!    You're 


A     NIGHT     S     ENCHANTMENT 

a  man  of  kidney,  sir.  A  gentleman  is  al- 
ways a  gentleman;  and  I  do  not  need  to 
look  at  you  twice,  sir,  to  note  that  my  niece's 
choice  has  been  a  happy  one." 

"You  have  not  introduced  me  to  your 
niece,"  said  I,  "who  is,  next  to  myself,  the 
most  important  guest  at  the  table." 

"Hang  me !  The  young  lady  at  your  side 
is  Miss  Helen  Berkeley,  the  best  horsewoman 
in  the  state,  if  I  do  say  so  myself." 

Great  applause,  as  they  say  in  the  press 
gallery.  I  looked  squarely  at  the  girl,  but  she 
was  busy  turning  round  her  empty  wine-glass. 

"I  appreciate  the  honor,  sir,"  I  said;  "but 
now  will  you  favor  me  with  the  modus  oper- 
andiy  or,  to  be  particular,  the  reason  of  all 
this  mystery.''" 

"I  approach  that  at  once.  This  is  leap 
year,  as  you  will  recollect.  On  January  first 
I  gave  a  leap-year  party,  and  in  the  spirit  of 
fun  each  lady  present  declared  her  intention 
of  bringing  to  a  series  of  late  dinners  a  gen- 
tleman whom  none  of  us  knew,  either  by  sight 
or  by  reputation.    He  was  to  be  lured  into  a 

25 


A    night's    e  sf  c  h  a  n  t  m  e  n  t 

carriage  by  some  story  or  other,  and  was  not 
to  know  the  true  state  of  things  till  he  sat  at 
the  table.  My  niece  was  the  last  on  the  list. 
Those  who  backed  down  were  to  give  a  house- 
party  of  a  week's  length.  Women  detest 
house-parties,  and  that  is  the  one  reason  why 
this  comedy  has  gone  down  the  line  without 
a  failure.  This  is  the  eighth  dinner.  Each 
lady  present  has  fulfilled  her  obligation  to  the 
year.  We  have  had  some  curious  specimens 
of  humanity:  a  barber,  a  mild  lunatic,  a  de- 
tective who  thought  he  was  on  the  trail  of 
some  terrible  crime,  an  actor,  a  political  re- 
former, and  an  English  groom  who  palmed 
himself  off  as  a  lord.  The  actor  and  your- 
self, sir,  are  the  only  men  who  seemed  to  pos- 
sess any  knowledge  of  the  various  uses  of  din- 
ner forks." 

"You  haven't  seen  me  eat  yet,"  I  interpo- 
lated. All  this  was  highly  amusing  to  me.  I 
was  less  a  victim  than  a  spectator. 

"You  will  do  us  the  honor  of  permitting 
us  to  criticize  your  knowledge  of  the  forks," 
laughed  Ainsworth.    "Now,  Nell,  tell  us  how 

S6 


A     NIGHTS      ENCHANTMENT 

you  lured  Mr.  Anonymous  into  your  car- 
riage." 

Very  quietly  she  recounted  the  tale.  She 
omitted  but  one  incident. 

"In  front  of  a  club!"  cried  the  ladies  in 
unison.  "Why  in  the  world  didn't  we  think 
of  that.?" 

"Miss  Berkeley  has  omitted  one  thing," 
said  I  maliciously. 

"And,  pray,  what.''"  asked  Miss  Berkeley's 
uncle. 

"Remember,"  she  whispered,  "you  are  sup- 
posed to  be  a  gentleman." 

I  took  umbrage  at  the  word  "supposed." 

*'Miss  Berkeley  must  tell  you  what  she  has 
omitted  in  the  course  of  her  narrative." 

"And  I  refuse  to  tell." 

"Hang  it,  Nell,  I'll  wager  Mr.  Anonymous 
kissed  you !"  cried  her  uncle. 

"Caught !"  cried  one  of  the  ladies. 

"Allow  me  a  word,"  I  interposed.  I  was 
already  sorry.  "There  was  a  method  in  my 
action  which  must  not  be  misconstrued.  I  be- 
lieved,   for   a   moment,   that   Miss   Berkeley 

2T 


A     NIGHT'S     ENCHANTMENT 

might  be  a  new  species  of  bunko-steerer.  If 
she  objected  noisily  to  my  salute  I  should  find 
my  case  proved ;  if  she  cried,  I  was  wrong." 

"And?" 

"She  did  neither.    She  rubbed  her  cheek." 

"I'll  warrant!"  my  host  bawled.  "Oh,  this 
is  rich !  A  bunko-steerer !" 

"Miss  Berkeley,"  I  whispered,  "we  are 
quits." 

"Not  yet," — ominously. 

It  was  almost  time  for  me  to  go ! 

"I  was  going  to  ask  your  pardon,"  said 
the  uncle  in  his  hunter-voice;  "but  I  think 
you  have  been  paid  for  your  trouble.  Is  there 
anything  you  would  like?" 

"Three  things,  sir." 

"And  these?"  he  asked,  while  every  one 
looked  curiously  at  me.  I  was  still  an  un- 
known quantity. 

"My  hat,  my  coat,  and  the  way  to  the 
door,  for  I  presume  you  have  no  further  use 
for  me." 

My  reply  appealed  to  the  guests  as  mon- 
strous funny.  It  was  some  time  ere  the  laugh- 

28 


A    night's    enchantment 

ter  subsided.  My  host  seemed  threatened  with 
an  attack  of  apoplexy. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  he,  "I  beg  of  you  to 
remain,  not  as  a  source  for  our  merriment,  but 
as  the  chief  guest  of  honor.  I  believe  you  have 
won  that  place." 

I  turned  to  Miss  Berkeley.  "Do  you  bid 
me  remain?" 

Silence. 

I  placed  my  hand  on  the  back  of  my  chair, 
preparatory  to  sliding  it  from  under  me.  She 
stayed  me. 

"Do  not  go," — softly.  "I  haven't  had  my 
revenge." 

I  sat  down.  I  was  curious  to  learn  what 
color  this  revenge  was  going  to  take.  "Mr. 
Ainsworth,  my  compliments !" — ^raising  my 
glass,  being  very  careful  not  to  touch  the  con- 
tents. 

"Bully !"  cried  my  host,  thumping  the 
table  with  his  fist.  "James,  a  dozen  bottles 
of  '96.  There's  a  gentleman," — nodding  to 
those  nearest  him;  "you  can  tell  'em  a  mile 
off.    A  little  shy  of  strangers,"  humorously 

29 


A     NIGHT      S      ENCHANTMENT 

falling  into  horse-talk,  "but  he's  money  com- 
ing down  the  home-stretch." 

Then  everybody  began  to  talk  at  once,  and 
I  knew  that  the  dinner  proper  was  on  the  way. 

"Aren't  you  just  a  little  above  such  esca- 
pades as  this.'"'  I  asked  of  the  girl. 

**Do  not  make  me  any  more  uncomfortable 
than  I  am,"  she  begged.  "But  having  gone 
into  it  I  had  too  much  courage  to  back  down." 

"The  true  courage  would  have  been  to  give 
the  house-party." 

"But  men  always  insist  upon  your  marry- 
ing them  at  house-parties." 

"I  see  I  have  much  to  learn," — meekly. 
"And  the  men  are  right." 

"What  an  escape  I  have  had !" 

"Meaning  house-parties,  or  that  I  am  a 
gentleman  ?" 

"If  you  had  not  been  a  gentleman !  For,  of 
course,  you  are,  since  my  uncle  has  so  dubbed 
you.    If  you  had  not  been  a  gentleman!" 

"If  you  had  not  been  a  lady!  If  you  had 
been  a  bunko-steerer !  And  I  do  not  know  that 
you  are  not  one  still.    Do  you  believe  me?   I 

30 


A    night's    enchantment 

kept  my  hand  on  my  wallet  pocket  nearly  all 
the  time." 

"I  understood  you  to  say  that  you  were 
poor." 

"Oh,  I  mean  that  I  am  too  poor  to  hunt 
for  excitement  in  bizarre  things." 

"Confess  that  you  look  upon  me  with  a 
frank  contempt !" — imperiously. 

"Never!" 

"That  in  your  secret  mind  you  "write  me 
down  a  silly  fool." 

"Allow  me  to  quote  Dogberry — 'Masters, 
remember  that  I  am  an  ass ;  though  it  be  not 
written  down,  yet  forget  not  that  I  am  an 
ass!'  Thus,  I  may  not  call  you  a  fool.  Be- 
sides, it  would  be  very  impohte." 

"You  neither  eat  nor  drink.   Why?" 

"I  demand  to  retain  some  of  my  sfff-re- 
spect." 

She  leaned  on  her  elbows,  her  chin  in  her 
palms.  She  had  wonderful  eyes,  and  for  as 
long  a  time  as  a  minute  these  eyes  impaled 
me  on  barbs  of  light.  "You  must  think  us  a 
pack  of  fools." 

SI 


A     NIGHT     S     ENCHANTMENT 

"Oh,  indeed,  no ;  only  rich." 

"That  is  almost  an  epigram," — wamingly. 
"You  will  lead  me  to  beHeve  that  you  belong 
to  smart  society  in  some  provincial  town." 

"Heaven  f orfend !" — earnestly. 

"But  speak  all  the  thought.  Nothing  pre- 
vents truth  from  either  of  us  to-night." 

"All  of  what  thought.?" 

"We  are  not  fools,  only  rich." 

*'Well,  I  lower  the  bucket,  then;  and  if  I 
can  bring  truth  to  the  top  of  the  well  you 
will  promise  not  to  blush  on  beholding  her?" 

"I  promise." 

"It  is  maddening  and  unhealthy  to  be  rich 
and  idle.  The  rich  and  idle  do  such  impossible 
things  in  the  wild  effort  to  pass  away  the 
dragging  hours.  Society  is  not  made  up  of 
fools :  rather  knaves  and  madmen.  Money  and 
idleness  result  in  a  mild  attack  of  insanity." 

"Thanks." 

"You  are  welcome.  Shall  I  lower  truth 
along  with  the  butter  of  flattery  ?" 

"You  may  lower  the  butter  of  flattery.  So 
that  is  how  the  great  public  looks  upon  us?" 

32 


A    night's    enchantment 

**Yes,  in  a  way ;  while  it  envies  you." 

"I  have  always  been  rich.  What  is  poverty 
like?" 

"It  is  comparative." 

"It  must  be  horrid." 

"Poverty  is  ugly  only  when  man  himself  is 
the  cause  of  it." 

"Another  epigram.  I  have  always  been  un- 
der my  uncle's  care," — ^with  the  slightest 
droop  of  the  lips. 

"Ah !  His  knowledge  ends  at  the  stable  and 
begins  at  the  table :  horses  and  vintages.  If  a 
woman  had  crossed  his  path  he  would  have 
been  a  great  man." 

"Poor  Uncle  Dan !  To  him  I  am  his  favor- 
ite filly,  and  he  has  put  huge  sums  on  me  to 
win  the  ducal  race.  Everybody  says  that  I'm 
to  marry  the  Duke  of  Roxclift." 

*'And  you?"  I  do  not  know  why  my  heart 
sank  a  little  as  I  put  this  question. 

"I?  Oh,  I'm  going  to  balk  at  the  quarter 
and  throw  the  race.  To-night,  what  would 
you  have  done  in  my  place?" 

"Hailed  a  gentleman  exactly  like  myself." 


A     NIGHT     S     ENCHANTMENT 

She  dallied  with  a  rose,  brushing  it  across 
her  lips.  "I  do  not  know  why  I  desire  your 
good  opinion.  Perhaps  it's  the  novelty  of  sit- 
ting beside  a  man  who  does  not  believe  in  flat- 
tery." 

"Flattery  is  a  truth  that  is  not  true.  I 
think  you  are  charming,  beautiful,  engaging, 
enchanting,  mystifying.  I  can  think  of  no 
other  adjectives." 

"If  flattery  is  a  truth  that  is  not  true,  then 
all  your  pretty  adjectives  mean  nothing." 

"Oh,  but  I  do  not  flatter  you.  Men  flatter 
homely  women — homely  women  who  are  rich 
and  easily  hoodwinked.  What  I  have  offered 
you  in  the  hue  of  decorative  adjectives  your 
mirror  has  already  told  you  time  and  time 
again.  If  I  said  that  you  were  witty,  scholar- 
ly, scientific,  vastly  and  highly  intellectual, 
not  knowing  you  any  better  than  I  do,  that 
would  be  flattery.   Do  you  grasp  the  point?" 

''Nebulously.  You  are  trying  to  say  some- 
thing nice." 

"We  are  getting  on  capitally.  When  I  left 
the  club  to-night  the  wildest  stretch  of  my 

94 


A     NIGHT     S     ENCHANTMENT 

fancy  would  not  have  placed  me  here  beside 
you." 

"Yes," — irrelevantly,  **most  of  us  are  mad. 
Everything  is  so  monotonous." 

"To-night?" 

"Well,  not  to-night." 

"You  have  not  yet  asked  me  who  I  am." 

"Then  you  are  somebody  ?"  — droUy.  She 
contemplated  me,  speculatively  as  it  were. 

I  laughed.  This  was  the  most  amusing  and 
enchanting  adventure  I  had  ever  had  the  luck 
to  fall  into.  "The  world  thinks  so,"  I  replied 
to  her  question. 

"The  world?   What  world?" 

"My  world    .    .    .    and  a  part  of  yours." 

"Are  you  one  of  those  men  who  accom- 
plish something  besides  novel  dinners?" 

"So  I  am  led  to  believe." 

"In  what  way?" 

"Ah,  but  that  is  a  secret." 

She  shrugged.  ^Evidently  she  was  incredu- 
lous. "Are  you  an  actor?"  suddenly  recollect- 
ing where  she  had  picked  me  up. 

"Only  in  *A11  the  world's  a  stage.'  " 

35 


A     NIGHTS     ENCHANTMENT 

"I  will  ask  you :  Will  you  do  me  the  honor 
of  telling  me  who  you  are?" 

"My  self-respect  denies  me  that  pleasure." 

"Fiddlesticks!"    This  was  very  human. 

"Is  it  possible  that  I  am  interesting  you?" 
— surprised. 

"You  are  a  clever  man,  whoever  and  what- 
ever you  are.  Where  did  you  learn  to  read  a 
woman  so  readily?  Who  told  you  that  when 
you  confront  a  woman  with  a  mystery  you 
trap  her  interest  along  with  her  curiosity? 
Yes,  you  are  clever.  If  you  told  me  yqur  name 
and  your  occupation  I  dare  say  I  should 
straightway  become  bored." 

"Truth  still  shivers  on  the  well's  edge." 

She  nibbled  the  rose-leaves. 

"Does  your  interest  in  episodes  like  to- 
night always  die  so  suddenly?" — nodding  to- 
ward the  others,  who  had  long  since  ceased  to 
pay  me  any  particular  attention. 

"Nearly  always." 

"Very  well;  since  they  have  forgotten  as 
let  us  forget  them."  I  leaned  toward  her,  and 
my  voice  was  not  so  steady  as  it  should  have 

d6 


A     NIGHT     S     ENCHANTMENT 

been.  "In  what  manner  would  it  benefit  me 
to  tell  you  my  name  and  what  my  occupation 
in  the  great  world  is?  Would  it  put  me  on 
the  list  of  your  acquaintance?" 

She  eyed  me  thoughtfully.  "That  de- 
pends." 

"Upon  what?" 

"Whether  you  were  worth  knowing.  I  ad- 
dressed other  gentlemen  in  front  of  your  club. 
They  politely  said  I  had  made  a  mistake." 

"They  were  old  or  married." 

"That  wasn't  it." 

"Then  they  didn't  see  you  in  the  light,  as 
I  did." 

"What  difference  would  that  have  made?" 

"All  the  difference  in  the  world.  But  you 
have  tabooed  flattery.  I  see  that  I  should 
have  been  a  barber,  a  mild  lunatic,  or  a  de- 
tective." 

**You  would  have  been  easier  to  dispose  of." 

I  directed  my  gaze  toward  the  door,  and 
she  suiTendered  a  smile. 

"You  might  be  worth  knowing," — mus- 
ingly. 

87 


A     NIGHT     S     ENCHANTMENT 

"I  promise  to  be." 

"I  shall  give  it  thought.  I  should  never 
forgive  myself  if  I  were  the  indirect  cause  of 
your  joining  this  carnival  of  fools." 

"I  see  that  I  shall  last  longer  in  your 
thoughts  as  the  Unknown." 

"Eat,"  she  commanded. 

"I  am  not  hungry ;  I  have  dined." 

"Drink,  then." 

"I  am  not  thirsty." 

She  took  my  glass  and  poured  the  contents 
into  hers,  then  handed  it  to  me.  "Now!"  she 
said. 

"Why.?" 

"You  make  me  think  of  Monte  Cristo: 
what  terrible  revenge  are  you  going  to  take.?" 

"It  will  be  upon  myself :  that  of  never  for- 
getting you." 

**One  single  sip !" 

I  accepted  the  glass  and  took  one  sip. 
"Now  I  have  lost  what  I  desired  to  retain — my 
respect.  So  long  as  I  touched  nothing  at  this 
table  I  held  the  advantage.  My  name  is — " 

She  put  her  hands  over  her  ears.   "Don't !" 

38 


A    night's    enchantment 

**Very  well:  the  woman  tempted  me." 

"Haven't  you  a  better  epigram?" 

"Perhaps  I  am  saving  them." 

"For  what?" 

**Who  knows  that  I  am  not  writing  a 
play?" 

"I  live  here ;  a  card  will  find  me  on  Thurs- 
days after  four." 

"I  will  come  Wednesdays,  thereby  saving 
you  the  trouble." 

"That  is  not  wit;  it  is  rudeness.  Do  not 
come  either  Thursdays  or  Wednesdays." 

*'How  shall  you  know  who  it  is?" 

**Trust  a  woman." 

**Ah,  here  comes  the  butler  with  the 
liqueurs.  I  am  glad.  Presently  I  should  be 
making  love  to  you;  now  I  am  about  to  be 
free." 

*'Are  you  quite  sure?" — ^with  a  penetrat- 
ing glance.  I  believe  she  knew  the  power  of 
her  beauty. 

"Well,  I  shall  be  free  to  go  home  where  I 
belong," — compromising. 

And  I  rose.  Perhaps  the  drollest  episode  of 

39 


A      NIGHT      S      ENCHANTMENT 

the  dinner  took  place  as  I  started  for  the 
door. 

"Ever  heard  of  Starlight?"  cried  Uncle 
Daniel  down  the  room.  "No?  Well,  she's 
down  on  the  winter  books  at  fifty  to  one. 
Stack  your  money  on  her  now ;  it's  a  hunch." 

"Thank  you,"  said  I.  I  did  not  have  the 
courage  to  ask  him  what  a  "hunch"  was. 

"Good  night,"  said  I  to  the  girl,  bowing. 

"Good  night,"  smiling. 

I  wonder  if  she  knew  that  I  had  stolen  the 
rose?  On  the  way  home  my  mind  returned  to 
my  play.  Had  the  fourth  act  gone  off  as 
smoothly  as  the  others? 

What  a  girl  for  a  man ! 

The  curtain  fell  on  the  first  act,  and  the 
thrilling  soimd  of  beating  hands  came  to  me 
dimly. 

"They  are  calling  for  you,"  said  Shaw  ex- 
citedly. 

"What  am  I  to  do?" — nervously. 

"What?  Haven't  you  thought  out  some- 
thing to  say?" — disgustedly. 

40 


A    night's    enchantment 

*'Nary  a  word!" 

"Well,  just  lead  out  Miss  Blank  and  bow. 
You're  not  an  old  hand,  so  they  will  let  you 
off  without  a  speech." 

So  I  led  the  young  woman  who  had  helped 
to  make  me  famous  to  the  footlights,  and 
bowed.  I  do  not  know  what  caused  me  to 
glance  up  toward  the  left  upper  proscenium, 
but  I  did  so  .  .  .  and  felt  my  heart  stop 
and  then  throb  violently.  It  was  Miss  Berke- 
ley. Heaven  only  knows  how  long  I  should 
have  stared  at  her  but  for  the  warning  pres- 
sure of  the  actress'  hand  over  mine.  We  dis- 
appeared behind  the  curtain.  I  was  confused 
by  many  emotions. 

While  the  hands  were  shifting  about  the 
next  "set"  a  boy  handed  me  the  crumpled 
margin  of  a  program.  I  unfolded  it  and  read : 
"Will  'Mr.  Anonymous'  do  Miss  Berkeley  the 
honor  of  visiting  her  box?" 

"Mr.  Anonymous"  presented  himself  forth- 
with. Miss  Berkeley  was  with  an  elderly 
woman,  who  proved  to  be  her  grandaunt.  I 
was  introduced. 

41 


A     NIGHT     S     ENCHANTMENT 

**Aunty,  this  is  the  gentleman  I  told  you 
about.   Isn't  it  terrible?" 

"Terrible?  I  should  call  it  wholly  enchant- 
ing. Sir,  you  will  pardon  the  child  for  her 
wildness.  My  nephew  doesn't  know  as  much 
as  his  celebrated  horses.  Now,  go  ahead  and 
talk  while  I  look  over  the  audience." 

If  only  all  elderly  ladies  were  as  thought- 
ful! 

"And  I  have  read  your  books ;  I  have  wit- 
nessed your  play !"  Miss  Berkeley  said. 

"Thursday,  after  four?" 

"No.  Everybody  calls  then.  Come  Wednes- 
day." 

"I  have  a  confession  to  make,"  said  I. 
"You  dropped  a  rose  on  the  floor  last  night. 
I  stole  it.  Must  I  return  it  to  you?" 

**I  never  do  anything  without  a  purpose," 
was  all  she  said. 

So  I  kept  the  rose. 


42 


THE  BLIND  MADONNA 

THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  GOLDEN  LOUIS 

It  had  rained  all  day,  a  miserable  drizzling 
rain,  cold  and  foggy. 

The  horses  had  remained  in  the  stables, 
the  dogs  in  the  kennels,  and  the  fox  in  the 
chicken-coop.  I  stole  out  during  luncheon  to 
take  a  look  at  Master  Reynard.  He  looked 
shamefaced  and  bedraggled  enough,  shut  up 
in  that  coop.  I  felt  sorry  for  him,  and  told 
Mrs.  Chad  wick  so. 

"At  least  you  might  have  given  him  a 
chicken  for  company,"  I  said.  "He  looked 
disgusted  with  life." 

Mrs.  Chadwick  smiled  and  remarked  that 
she  would  see  that  Master  Reynard  had  his 
chicken. 

"Do  you  think  he  would  prefer  it  broiled 
or  baked?" 

From  then  on  I  had  played  ping-pong, 

43 


THE      BLIND      MADONNA 

bridge  and  billiards,  and  made  violent  love  to 
three  or  four  married  women  because  it  was 
safe,  and  easy,  and  politic — and  exciting.  I 
had  an  idea  for  a  story,  but  needed  a  mar- 
ried woman's  opinion  as  to  how  it  should 
properly  end. 

The  end  was  still  hidden  in  a  nebulous  un- 
certainty as  the  colonel  (our  host)  led  us  men 
into  the  armory,  with  its  huge  fireplace,  its 
long  basswood  table  upon  which  we  had  at 
various  times  carved  our  initials,  its  gunracks 
and  trophies  of  the  chase.  A  servant  passed 
around  fine  Scotch  and  brandy  and  soda,  with 
which  we  proceeded  to  tonic  our  appetites; 
for  dinner  was  to  be  announced  within  an 
hour.  I  took  out  my  penknife  and  went  on 
with  my  uncompleted  carving. 

Renwood,  who  owned  a  fine  racing-stable, 
brought  up  the  subject  which  had  interested 
us  during  the  mail  hour  that  morning:  the 
losses  which  Cranford  had  suffered  in  an  ex- 
clusive gambling  house  in  New  York  City. 

"Thirty  thousand  is  a  fat  lump  to  lose  this 
side  of  the  Atlantic,"  Renwood  observed. 

44 


THE     BLIND     MADONNA 

"Not  beyond  the  Rockies,"  added  Colling- 
wood,  who  had  done  some  fancy  mining  in 
Nevada.  "I  saw  Judge  Blank  lose  seventy- 
five  thousand  at  faro  one  night  in  Carson 
City." 

*'What  did  Cranford  play, — roulette  or 
faro?"  I  asked. 

"The  papers  say  roulette,"  replied  Ren- 
wood.  "It's  a  bad  game.  There  is  some 
chance  at  faro,  if  the  game  is  square.  But 
roulette ;  bah !   It  is  plain  robbery." 

"The  blind  Madonna  of  the  Pagan,  as 
Stevenson  called  chance,"  mused  the  colonel, 
lighting  a  cigar.  "I  often  wonder  if  gam- 
bling is  not  as  much  a  particle  of  our  blood 
as  salt.  Perhaps  you  have  all  wondered  why 
I  never  have  kept  a  racing-stable,  why  I  play 
bridge  and  poker  for  fun.   I  remember — " 

Chairs  moving  noisily  in  the  colonel's  di- 
rection interrupted  him.  I  doubled  up  my 
knife  and  carried  my  Scotch  to  his  end  of  the 
table. 

"If  it's  a  story,  Colonel,"  said  Old  Fletcher, 
navy,  retired,  "let's  have  it." 
45 


THE     BLIND     MADONNA 

The  colonel  took  out  his  watch  and  eyed  it 
critically. 

"We  have  just  three-quarters  of  an  hour. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  how  I  broke  one  of  the 
roulette  banks  at  Monte  Carlo?" 

"Why,  you  old  reprobate!"  exclaimed 
Fletcher;  "you've  just  told  us  that  you  never 
gambled." 

*'I  merely  said  that  I  do  not,"  replied  the 
colonel. 

"Broke  the  bank.?"  cried  Renwood.  "You 
never  told  me  about  that." 

"I  have  never  told  any  one.  I  ought  not  to 
tell  you—" 

"You  can't  back  out  of  it  now,"  said  I. 

*'Not  in  a  thousand  years,"  echoed  Fletcher. 
*'If  you  took  any  gold  away  from  Monte 
Carlo,  I  want  to  hear  all  about  it." 

"Very  well,"  acquiesced  the  colonel;  "but 
the  tale  must  not  go  beyond  this  armory;" 
and  he  looked  at  me  as  he  said  it. 

"Oh,  I  shouldn't  mention  any  names,"  I 
declared ;  "and  I  should  twist  it  around  some." 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence,  broken 

46 


THE      BLIND      MADONNA 

only  by  the  rattling  of  the  ice  in  Colling- 
wood's  glass. 

Our  host  was  a  man  of  about  forty-eight. 
His  hair  was  white,  but  his  face  was  youthful 
and  amazingly  handsome;  and  I  knew  many 
a  woman  who  envied  Mrs.  Chad  wick,  even  as 
many  a  man  envied  the  colonel.  I  never  saw 
a  handsomer  pair,  or  a  pair  so  wrapt  up  in 
each  other.  I  shall  let  the  colonel  tell  his  own 
story,  which  needs  no  embellishments  from 
me. 

In  the  spring  of  1887  I  packed  up  and  took 
passage  for  England.  The  slump  in  Wall 
Street  the  preceding  winter  had  left  me  with 
only  seven  thousand  in  cash,  and  this  estate 
heavily  mortgaged.  The  only  way  I  could 
save  the  seven  thousand  and  what  remained 
of  the  property  was  to  get  away  from  the 
Street. 

I  made  my  sister  a  short  visit.  I  had  been 
one  of  the  ushers  at  her  wedding,  and  her 
husband,  Lord  Rexford,  thought  I  was  a  jolly 
good  lad  because  I  was  the  only  sober  man  at 

47 


THE     BLIND     MADONNA 

the  bachelor  dinner  at  the  Richmond.  This 
was  due  to  a  little  invention  of  my  own  which 
I  acquired  at  Harvard  in  my  college  days: 
putting  plenty  of  olive  oil  on  my  salad.  I 
played  golf  over  his  lordship's  course,  fished 
and  hunted  over  his  really  fine  preserves ;  and 
in  return  told  him  not  to  invest  in  Southern 
Pacific  till  the  following  year. 

It  was  my  misfortune  to  run  into  Jack 
Smeed  in  London.  He  was  a  classmate  of 
mine,  and  one  of  the  best  fellows  that  ever 
lived.  But  he  was  the  most  splendid  spend- 
thrift I  ever  came  across.  He  showed  me  Paris 
as  few  foreigners  have  seen  it. 

At  that  time  he  was  a  famous  war  corre- 
spondent, art  critic  and  poet.  He  inveigled 
me  and  my  seven  thousand  to  Dieppe.  It  was 
still  summer.  One  night  we  visited  a  gam- 
bling casino.  I  had  gambled  in  stocks,  but 
had  never  played  straight  gambling,  think- 
ing it  too  tame  a  sport  for  a  speculator. 
Tame !  I  smile  these  days  when  I  think  of  my 
adventure ;  but  heaven  knows  I  did  not  smile 
then. 

48 


THE      BLIND      MADONNA 

Very  well.  Smeed  aroused  the  latent  gam- 
bler's blood  in  my  veins,  and  I  began  to  play. 

"Never  play  a  system,"  said  Smeed  one 
night,  after  having  won  something  like  ten 
thousand  francs.  "Systems  make  gambling  a 
vice.  Take  your  chance  on  any  old  number, 
if  it's  roulette.  If  you  are  lucky  you  will  win, 
no  matter  where  you  play.  Systems  and  sui- 
cides were  born  of  the  same  mother." 

A  week  later  he  received  one  of  those  his- 
toric telegrams,  calling  him  to  some  African 
outbreak,  or  Indian,  I  can't  recall  which.  At 
any  rate,  it  left  me  alone  in  Dieppe.  I  had 
been  passably  fortunate  at  roulette;  that  is 
to  say,  I  invariably  won  back  what  I  lost.  I 
believe  I  had  about  five  thousand  of  the  origi- 
nal seven.  Dieppe  is  very  enticing  in  the  sum- 
mer: the  bands,  the  hotels,  the  handsome 
women,  the  military  and  the  sea. 

The  night  after  Smeed  had  gone  I  saun- 
tered over  to  the  tables  and  played  a  modest 
stake,  won  and  lost,  won  and  lost  again.  The 
blind  Madonna  was  merely  flirting  with  me, 
luring  me  on. 

49 


THE     BLIND      MADONNA 

I  suddenly  threw  restraint  to  the  winds, 
and  plunged.  I  won  heavily,  and  then  began 
to  lose.  Unconsciously  I  had  discovered  a  sys- 
tem, and  like  a  stubborn  fool  I  stuck  to  it — 
29  and  26.  Neither  of  these  numbers  came  up 
till  more  than  four  thousand  of  my  capital 
had  taken  its  place  at  the  croupier's  elbow.  I 
had  been  sensible  enough  to  leave  some  of  my 
money  at  the  hotel. 

I  went  away  from  the  tables,  perspiring 
and  burning  with  fever.  I  cursed  the  blind 
Madonna,  and  counted  over  the  money  I  had 
remaining.  It  was  exactly  seven  hundred. 
This  would  pay  my  passage  home. 

But  the  spirit  of  gambling  ran  riot  in  my 
veins.  Besides,  I  thirsted  for  revenge.  What ! 
give  up  ?  Bah !  all  or  nothing ! 

I  returned,  and  placed  the  seven  hundred 
on  black.  I  won.  I  stuffed  the  original  stake 
in  my  pocket  and  put  the  winnings  on  the 
odd.  I  won  again.  I  had  twenty-one  hun- 
dred; so  I  stopped  and  watched  the  game.  I 
observed  a  handsome  young  boy  plunging 
madly ;  he  was  losing,  but  in  a  lordly  fashion. 


THE     BI.IND      MADOITNA 

When  I  got  back  to  my  room  I  flipped  up  a 
coin  to  see  whether  I  should  stay  in  Dieppe 
or  leave  in  the  morning  for  Paris,  where  my 
sister  was  a  guest  of  the  wife  of  one  of  the 
British  attaches. 

When  a  man  gambles  he  wants  to  do  it 
thoroughly.  Heads,  I  was  to  go;  tails,  I  was 
to  remain  and  buck  the  tiger.  Heads  it  fell; 
and  I  packed  my  trunk.  No  more  of  the  blind 
Madonna  for  me,  I  vowed.  I  had  had  enough, 
perhaps  more  than  enough.  But  one  does  not 
lose  the  habit  overnight. 

On  the  way  from  Dieppe  to  Paris  a  veiled 
woman  entered  my  carriage,  which  was  third, 
nothing  else  being  obtainable.  Rather,  she 
entered  immediately  after  I  did.  She  was  ac- 
companied by  a  young  man  of  twenty-one  or 
two.  His  face  was  good  to  look  at,  but  at 
present  it  was  marred  by  sullen  chagrin  and 
despair.  Occasionally  I  saw  the  girl's  hands 
close  convulsively.  These  hands  were  so  beau- 
tifully small  and  white  that  I  was  anxious  to 
see  their  owner's  face;  but  this  pleasure  was 
denied  me. 

51 


THE     BL.IND     MADONNA 

Presently  she  addressed  me  in  German,  in- 
quiring the  time  we  should  reach  Paris. 

I  don't  know  what  possessed  me,  but  I  re- 
plied in  French  that  I  did  not  understand 
German.  She  repeated  the  question  in  French, 
and  I  answered.  The  young  man  took  out  his 
fob,  and  I  could  see  that  his  watch  was  gone. 

Half  an  hour  passed.  I  tried  to  read  the 
magazines,  but  invariably  found  myself  gaz- 
ing in  the  direction  of  the  girl.  After  a  space 
I  heard  her  address  the  young  man  in  Ger- 
man. 

"What  have  you  done?  What  have  you 
done?"  It  was  a  very  pathetic  voice,  verging 
on  tears. 

'*Curse  it,  what's  the  use  of  taking  on  so? 
The  money's  gone;  sniveling  won't  bring  it 
back."  He  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets 
and  scowled  at  his  boots.  Suddenly  he  raised 
his  eyes  and  stared  suspiciously  at  me.  Evi- 
dently an  idea  struck  him.  "Betty,  perhaps 
this  fellow  opposite  can  understand  German." 

I  never  turned  a  hair.  Somehow  I  was  posi- 
tive that  he  was  the  girl's  brother.   And  just 

52 


THE     BLIND     MADONNA 

then  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  had  seen  his  face 
before,  but  where,  I  could  not  tell. 

"But  what  shall  we  do  ?  You  dare  not  write 
home,  and  I  have  given  you  aU  but  passage 
money,  and  I  will  not  let  you  have  that." 

She  was  not  German,  but  she  spoke  that 
language  with  a  sweetness  and  fluency  im- 
possible to  describe. 

"But  the  pater  will  stand  another  call  from 
you,"  the  youth  declared. 

*'And  immediately  suspect  the  cause.  Oh, 
that  you  should  do  such  a  thing!  And  I 
trusted  you!  Something  told  me  not  to  let 
you  carry  the  money." 

"Oh,  bother !"  This  was  said  in  good  Eng- 
lish; and  I  looked  over  the  top  of  my  maga- 
zine. 

"What  made  you  do  it?"  wailed  the  girl. 
'*Six  thousand  pounds,  and  father  gave  five 
of  it  to  you  to  buy  consols  with.  It  will  break 
his  heart,  and  mother's  too.  It  was  all  the 
ready  money  he  had." 

"Curse  it,  I'd  have  broke  the  bank  in  an- 
other moment.   But  17,  20  and  32  never  came 

53 


THE     BlilND     MADONNA 

up  till  all  my  cash  was  gone.  Why,  I  had  the 
maximum  on  black,  even,  the  second  dozen, 
and  20,  one  play.  If  it  had  come  up  I'd  have 
broke  the  bank." 

"But  it  didn't  come  up;  it  never  does. 
What  -will  you  do.?  What  excuse  will  you 
have  ?" 

"I  can  tell  the  pater  that  I  was  robbed," — 
lamely. 

"You  wouldn't  lie,  Dick !" 

"Oh,  of  course  not.  I'll  get  it  of  old  Uncle 
Lewis.  My  chance  at  the  estate  is  worth 
twenty  times  six  thousand.  Damn  the  luck!" 
The  youth  swore  softly  in  his  native  tongue, 
and  I  could  see  the  sparkle  of  a  tear  behind 
the  girl's  veil. 

Ah !  I  recollected.  It  was  the  young  fellow 
whom  I  had  seen  at  the  Casino,  plunging 
heavily.  These  roulette  wheels  were  pretty 
gruesome  things.  I  congratulated  myself  on 
being  out  of  it.  But  I  passed  the  congratula- 
tions a  little  too  early,  as  will  be  seen.  Your 
Uncle  Lewis,  I  thought,  would  never  get  his 
pawnbroker's  claws  on  any  of  my  property. 

54 


THE     BLIND      MADONNA 

When  I  arrived  in  Paris  I  never  expected 
to  see  them  again.  But  the  Wind  Madonna 
of  the  Pagan  is  not  always  concerning  herself 
with  roulette  banks. 

I  remained  in  Paris  till  February.  My  sis- 
ter helped  me  out  of  her  private  purse.  Prob- 
ably she  would  not  have  done  so  had  she 
known  how  deeply  I  had  pledged  the  old 
homestead.  I  began  to  feel  like  myself  again. 
I  cabled  my  brokers  to  buy  July  wheat,  and 
mailed  a  thousand  for  margin. 

From  Paris  I  went  to  Nice.  I  met  some 
Americans  there.  The  gambling  fever  seemed 
to  possess  them  all.  I  was  dragged  into  the 
maelstrom.    I  became  mad  and  unreasoning. 

I  arrived  at  Monaco  with  exactly  one  hun- 
dred louis.  By  this  time  I  had  mortgaged  the 
estate  to  the  last  penny.  I  was  nearing  that 
precipice  over  which  all  gamblers  finally  tum- 
ble: ruin.  Ruin  makes  a  man  reckless,  de- 
fiant, devil-may-care.  Heavens!  what  luck  I 
had  had!  The  gold  had  melted  away  "like 
snow  upon  the  desert's  dusty  face." 

Right  in  the  middle  of  this  fever  came  a 

55 


THE     BLIND     MADONNA 

call  from  Wall  Street  for  more  margin.  I 
cabled  back  to  my  brokers  to  go,  one  and  all, 
to  the  hottest  place  they  could  think  of.  I 
dared  not  ask  my  sister  for  any  assistance, 
for  she  abhorred  gambling  of  all  kinds.  Be- 
sides, I  had  some  pride  left.  You  wouldn't 
have  believed  all  this  of  me,  would  you-f*  But 
it  is  all  true  enough. 

I  had  very  serious  thoughts  of  cashing  in 
all  my  checks,  and  making  the  prince  pay  for 
my  funeral.  I  shook  my  fist  at  his  yacht 
which  lay  in  the  harbor  below. 

I  made  an  inventory,  and  found  that  I  pos- 
sessed one  hundred  louis,  and  some  twenty- 
odd  pieces  of  miscellaneous  coin.  I  wandered 
about  till  night,  when  I  ate  a  remarkably 
good  dinner,  topping  it  off  with  a  pint  of 
chambertin  and  champagne  mixed.  This  gave 
me  a  splendid  courage. 

At  ten  I  took  a  promenade  through  the 
gardens  and  listened  to  the  band,  which  is  one 
of  the  finest  in  the  world.  They  were  playing 
Strauss  waltzes.  It  was  warm.  To  the  north 
lay  the  mountain,  to  the  south  the  Mediter- 

56 


THE     BLIND     MADONNA 

ranean  trembled  in  the  moonlight;  the  lights 
of  the  many  private  yachts  twinkled.  It  was 
a  mighty  fair  world — to  those  of  cool  blood 
and  unruffled  conscience.  I  jingled  the  louis, 
smoked  three  or  four  cigars,  then  directed 
my  steps  toward  the  Casino. 

I  immediately  sought  out  that  table  which 
is  close  to  the  famous  painting  of  the  girl  and 
the  horse.  I  forget  what  you  call  the  picture. 
The  croupier  was  wizened  and  bald.  Somehow 
I  fancied  that  I  saw  29  in  the  construction  of 
his  eyes  and  nose.  So  I  placed  a  louis  on  that 
number.  I  won.  Immediately  I  put  fifty  louis 
on  the  odd  and  fifty  on  the  black,  leaving  my 
winnings  on  the  lucky  number.  The  ball 
rolled  into  zero.  Very  coolly  I  searched 
through  my  pockets.  I  put  what  silver  I 
found  on  black.  The  ball  tumbled  into  num- 
ber 1,  which  is  red. 

I  was,  in  the  parlance  of  the  day,  absolutely 
strapped.  My  dinner  had  not  been  paid  for, 
even.  I  lit  a  cigar.  I  even  recalled  seeing  an 
actor  play  this  piece  of  bravado.  I  arose  from 
my  chair,  and  flecked  the  ashes  from  my  shirt 

57 


THE      BLIND      MADONNA 

bosom.  I  stared  at  the  girl  and  the  horse  for 
a  brief  space  and  felt  of  my  watch!  Hello! 
I  still  had  that,  and  with  its  jewels  it  was 
worth  about  four  hundred  dollars.  I  hurried 
back  to  the  hotel  and  saw  the  proprietor. 
After  an  hour's  dickering  he  consented  to  loan 
me  five  hundred  francs  on  it.  I  wisely  paid 
my  bill  for  three  days  in  advance. 

I  returned  to  the  Casino. 

"Monsieur,"  said  a  handsome  woman, 
whose  eyes  had  proved  pitfalls  for  many  an 
unwary  one,  "only  one  louis,  and  look!  I 
know  a  way  to  make  Monsieur  le  Croupier 
push  the  rake  toward  me.   Eh.?" 

"Here,"  said  I,  giving  her  the  louis.  She 
flew  away,  and  I  laughed.  Gambling  never 
had  any  dignity  or  disinterestedness. 

Of  all  those  I  had  left  at  the  table  only 
three  remained.  The  other  faces  were  new. 
And  how  that  pile  of  gold  and  bank-notes  at 
the  .side  of  the  croupier  had  grown ! 

A  crabbed  old  lady  arose,  crumpling  her 
system  card  in  her  hand,  and  I  popped  into 
her  vacant  chair.   I  cast  about  a  casual  glance. 

58 


THE      BLIND      MADONNA 

Seated  next  to  me  was  a  very  beautiful  young 
girl.  She  was  alone,  and  appeared  most  em- 
phatically out  of  place  in  this  gilded  Hades. 
Her  eyes  were  blue  and  moist  and  starlike, 
but  there  was  fever  in  her  cheeks  and  lips. 
There  was  very  little  gold  before  her,  and 
this  dwindled  as  I  watched.  She  was  playing 
17,  20  and  32,  persistently  and  doggedly; 
and  each  time  the  rake  drew  in  her  money  I 
could  see  her  delicate  nostrils  quiver  and  her 
lips  draw  to  a  thin  line.  From  time  to  time 
she  cast  a  hasty  glance  over  her  shoulder,  a 
shamed  and  hunted  look.  In  watching  her 
I  came  very  near  forgetting  why  I  was  seated 
at  the  table. 

"Make  your  game,  gentlemen;  make  your 
game, — the  game  is  made." 

Whirr-rr-rr!  went  the  evil  sphere.  It 
dropped  into  20.  The  girl  at  my  side  gasped, 
but  too  soon.  The  ball  bounded  out,  and  zig- 
zagged till  it  rolled  complacently  into  the 
zero.  The  young  girl  had  played  her  last 
louis  and  lost.  A  chivalric  impulse  came  to 
me  to  thrust  half  of  my  money  toward  her.  I 

59 


THE     BLIND     MADONNA 

had  done  as  much  for  a  woman  of  the  half- 
world.  But  the  gambler's  selfishness  checked 
the  generous  deed.  The  blind  Madonna  was 
biding  her  time,  as  you  shall  presently  see. 

The  girl  arose,  brushing  her  eyes.  She 
turned,  and  in  a  moment  had  disappeared  in 
the  moving  throng  of  sightseers. 

"Make  your  game,  gentlemen !" 

I  came  back  to  the  sordidness  of  things. 
17,  20,  32 ;  where  had  I  seen  this  combination 
before  ? — Good  heavens,  that  was  not  possible ! 

Where  was  her  brother.''  If  this  should  be 
the  girl  of  the  railway  coach!  I  half  arose, 
as  if  to  follow.  Chance  whispered  in  my  ear: 
"Of  what  use?"  I  laid  a  stake  on  29.  In  less 
than  forty  minutes  I  had  nothing  left  but 
three  days'  board  at  the  hotel.  I  fingered  my 
gold  cuff-buttons.  The  rubies  were  at  least 
worth  two  hundred  francs — No;  I  would  not 
part  with  them.  They  were  heirlooms.  They 
should  be  buried  with  me. 

I  forgot  all  about  the  beautiful  girl  and 
her  despair.  I,  Robert  Chadwick,  of  an  old 
and    respected    family,    once    wealthy,    had 

60 


THE     BUND     MADONNA 

reached  the  end  of  my  rope.  It  would  make 
interesting  reading  in  the  papers.  Not  a 
penny  to  my  name,  not  a  roof  over  my  head, 
unless  I  swallowed  my  pride  and  begged  of 
my  sister.  I  could  send  home  for  nothing,  be- 
cause I  had  nothing. 

"Make  your  game,  gentlemen,"  said  the 
bald-headed  croupier. 

I  sat  there,  stupidly  watcliing  the  ball.  It 
rolled  into  zero,  and  the  fat  English  brewer 
added  three  hundred  and  fifty  louis  to  his  ill- 
gotten  gains.  I  experienced  the  wild  desire 
to  spring  upon  him  and  cram  his  wealth  down 
his  fat  throat.  What  right  had  he  to  win 
when  he  had  millions  backing  him.''  I  felt 
through  my  clothes  again,  and  the  croupier 
eyed  me  coldly, 

"Never  mind,  monsieur,"  I  said  to  him,  with 
a  snarling  laugh;  "I  have  paid  for  my  chair 
to-night." 

"Twenty-nine  wins,  black  and  odd !" 

My  number!  It  repeated.  The  brewer 
laughed  as  he  heard  my  oath. 

"Here  is   your  louis,  monsieur,"   cried  a 

61 


THE      BI.IND      MADONNA 

voice  over  my  shoulder.  A  louis  dropped  in 
front  of  me.  I  looked  up.  It  was  the  irregu- 
lar lady  to  whom  I  had  given  the  gold  upon 
entering. 

I  threw  a  kiss  at  her  as  she  danced  away. 
She  had  won  three  thousand  francs  at  red- 
and-black.  I  spun  the  coin  in  the  air  and  let 
it  rest  where  it  fell.  From  where  I  sat  it 
looked  as  if  it  had  split  upon  17  and  20. 
Twenty  came  up,  and  I  expected  to  receive  at 
least  half  the  stake.  But  the  croupier  warned 
me  back  with  the  rake.  He  and  an  attendant 
peered  searchingly  at  the  coin,  then  beckoned 
to  me  to  observe.  The  breadth  of  a  hair  sepa- 
rated the  rim  of  the  coin  from  the  line.  I  had 
lost. 

"Damnation!"  I  arose  and  made  my  way 
through  the  crowd.  I  gained  the  outer  air, 
biting  my  mustache.  Till  that  moment  I  had 
never  measured  the  extent  of  my  vituperative 
vocabulary.  I  swore  till  I  was  out  of  breath. 
I  cursed  Smeed  for  having  aroused  the  gam- 
bling devil  in  my  veins;  I  cursed  my  lack  of 
will  power;  I  cursed  the  luck  which  had  fol- 

62 


THE     BLIND     MADONNA 

lowed  me  these  ten  months;  I  cursed  Wall 
Street,  which  had  been  the  primal  means  of 
bringing  me  to  this  destitution.  Oh,  I  tell 
you,  gentlemen,  that  fury  burned  up  at  least 
five  years  of  my  life.  I  must  have  gesticulated 
extravagantly,  for  a  guardian  of  the  peace 
approached  me. 

"Monsieur  has  lost  ?"  he  inquired  mildly. 

"What  the  devil  is  that  to  you?" 

"Oh,  I  could  find  monsieur  a  ticket  back  to 
Paris,  if  he  so  desires." 

"Cheaper  than  burying  me  here,  eh?  Well, 
you  go  along  with  you;  I  am  not  going  to 
cut  my  throat  this  evening;  nor  to-morrow 
evening."  And  I  made  off  toward  the  terrace. 

I  sat  down  on  one  of  the  seats,  lit  my  last 
cigar,  and  tried  to  contemplate  the  mysterious 
beauty  of  a  Mediterranean  night.  At  this  mo- 
ment Monte  Carlo  seemed  to  me  both  a  heaven 
and  a  hell.  Unluckily,  as  I  turned  my  head, 
I  saw  the  glittering  Temple  of  Fortune.  I 
spat,  cursing  with  renewed  vigor.  It  was  sur- 
prising how  well  I  kept  up  this  particular 
kind  of  monologue. 

63 


THE     BLIND     MADONNA 

Where  should  I  begin  life  anew?  In  the 
wheat  country,  in  the  cattle  country,  or  in  the 
mines?  I  had  a  good  knowledge  of  minerals 
and  the  commercial  value  of  each.  It  wasn't 
as  if  I  had  been  brought  up  with  a  golden 
spoon.  I  knew  how  to  work,  though  I  had 
never  done  a  stroke  outside  of  Wall  Street. 
If  only  I  had  not  mortgaged  the  estate !  Use- 
less recrimination !  Bah !  I  had  three  days  at 
the  hotel.    I  could  eat,  and  sleep,  and  bathe. 

The  band  stopped;  and  it  was  then  that  I 
became  conscious  of  a  sound  like  that  of  sob- 
bing. Across  the  path  I  discovered  the  figure 
of  a  woman.  She  was  weeping  on  her  arms 
which  were  thrown  over  the  back  of  the  seat. 
The  spot  was  secluded.  Just  then  some  yacht 
below  sent  up  a  rocket  which  burst  above  us 
in  a  warm  glow — It  was  the  young  woman  I 
had  seen  at  the  table.  I  arose  to  approach  her, 
when  I  saw  something  glittering  at  her  feet. 
It  proved  to  be  a  solitary  louis.  I  stooped  and 
picked  it  up,  joyful  at  the  chance  of  having 
an  excuse  to  speak  to  the  girl. 

**Mademoiselle,  you  have  dropped  a  louis." 

64 


THE     BLIND     MADONNA 

"I,  monsieur?  Oh!"  Evidently  she  had 
recognized  me.  "I  have  dropped  no  gold 
here," — striving  to  check  the  hiccoughs  into 
which  her  sobs  had  turned. 

"But  I  found  it  close  to  your  feet,"  I  ex- 
plained. 

"It  is  not  mine,  monsieur;  it  is  not  mine! 
Leave  me." 

"You  are  in  trouble?"  I  addressed  this 
question  in  English. 

'"You  are  English?" — as  one  who  grasps  at 
a  straw. 

"Almost;  I  am  an  American.  I  observed 
you  at  the  Casino  to-night.  You  have  suf- 
fered some  losses,"  I  suggested  gently. 

*'That  is  my  affair,  sir!" — ^with  sudden 
dignity. 

"May  I  not  offer  you  some  aid?"  I  asked, 
forgetting  that,  if  anything,  I  was  worse  off 
than  she  could  possibly  be.  I  turned  the  louis 
over  and  over.  What  a  terrible  thing  gam- 
bling was !  "My  proposal  is  perfectly  honor- 
able. I  am  a  gentleman.  You  have  committed 
a  folly  to-night,  a  folly  which  you  have  never 

65 


THE     BLIND     MADONNA 

before  committed  and  which  doubtless  you  will 
never  commit  again.  Where  is  your  brother? 
Are  you  here  alone,  without  masculine  pro- 
tection?" 

"My  brother?" 

The  rockets  soared  again;  and  the  agony 
written  on  the  girl's  face  excited  something 
stronger  than  pity.  I  fumbled  in  a  pocket 
and  drew  forth  a  card. 

"My  name  is  Chadwick;  permit  me — " 
Then  I  laughed  insanely,  even  hysterically. 
"I  beg  your  pardon !  I  was  about  to  offer  you 
material  assistance.  I  haven't  a  penny  in  the 
world,  and  nothing  of  value  save  a  pair  of 
cuff-buttons.  In  fact,  I  don't  see  how  I  am 
to  leave  this  wretched  place." 

This  odd  confession  aroused  her  interest. 

"You  have  lost  all  your  money,  too  ?" 

Too!  So  I  had  read  shrewdly.  She  was  in 
the  same  predicament  as  myself. 

**Yes.  Won't  you  accept  this  louis  ?" 

"A  single  louis?"  She  laughed  wildly.  "A 
single  louis?  What  good  would  that  do  me?" 

"But  where  is  your  brother?" 

66 


THE     BLIND     MADONNA 

"He  is  ill  at  the  hotel.  Oh,  I  am  the  most 
unhappy  •woman  in  the  world !"  And  her  sob- 
bing broke  forth  afresh. 

"Pardon  my  former  deception,  but  I  un- 
derstand German  perfectly  well." 

"You?" 

*'Yes.  I  was  a  passenger  in  the  same  coach 
which  brought  you  from  Dieppe  to  Paris  last 
fall.  Perhaps  you  do  not  remember  me;  but 
I  recollect  the  conversation  between  you  and 
your  brother.  He  has  gambled  away  money 
which  did  not  belong  to  him — even  as  I  have 
gambled  away  my  patrimony  and  the  family 
roof." 

"And  I — and  I  have  done  the  same  thing! 
Thinking  that  perhaps  I,  having  never  gam- 
bled, might  be  lucky  enough  to  win  back  what 
my  brother  lost,  I  have  risked  and  lost  the 
money  realized  on  my  jewels  for  passage 
home !" 

"Use  this  louis  to  send  home  for  money,"  I 
urged. 

"I  dare  not,  I  dare  not!  Mj  father  would 
disown  my  brother;  and  I  love  my  brother!" 

67 


THE     BLIND     MADONNA 

Sisters,  sometimes,  are  very  fond  beings. 

Suddenly  she  raised  her  despairing  face  to 
mine. 

"You, — ^you  take  the  louis  and  play  it; 
you !" 

"I?" 

"Yes,  yes!  Certainly  it  must  be  lucky. 
Play  it,  sir;  play  it!" 

I  caught  her  enthusiasm  and  excitement. 

*'I  will  play  it  only  on  one  condition." 

"What  is  that?"  she  asked,  rising.  There 
was  a  bit  of  distrust  in  her  tones. 

"That  you  shall—" 

"Sir,  you  said  you  were  honorable !" 

**Let  me  complete  the  sentence,"  said  I. 
**The  condition  is  that  you  shall  stand  beside 
me  and  tell  me  what  to  play." 

She  was  silent. 

"And  share  good  fortune  or  bad." 

"Good  fortune  or  bad,"  she  repeated.  She 
hesitated  for  a  moment ;  then  made  a  gesture. 
"What  matters  it  now?  I  will  go  with  you, 
and  do  as  you  desire.  I  shall  trust  you.  I 
believe  you  to  be  a  gentleman.    Come." 

68 


THE     BlilND     MADONNA 

So  together  we  returned  to  that  fatal 
room  and  sought  out  the  very  table  where  we 
had  suffered  our  losses. 

"How  old  are  you?"  she  asked  quietly. 

"Twenty-nine." 

"Play  it,  play  it !"  She  flushed,  and  then 
grew  as  pale  as  the  ivory  ball  itself. 

"Make  your  game,  gentlemen!"  cried  the 
croupier.  A  phantom  grin  spread  over  his 
face  as  he  saw  me.  I  laid  the  louis  on  29. 
"The  game  is  made!"  The  ball  whirred  to- 
ward fortune  or  ruin. 

I  shut  my  eyes,  and  became  conscious  of  a 
grip  like  iron  on  my  arm.  It  was  the  girl. 
Her  lips  were  parted.  You  could  see  the 
whole  iris,  so  widely  were  her  eyes  opened. 
So  I  stared  down  at  her,  at  the  ringless  hand 
clinging  to  my  arm.  I  simply  would  not  look 
at  the  ball. 

"Twenty-nine  wins,  black  and  odd!"  sang 
out  the  croupier.  He  nodded  at  me,  smiling. 
The  croupier  is  always  gracious  to  those  who 
win,  strange  as  this  may  seem. 

I  made  as  though  to  sweep  in  the  winnings, 

69 


THE      BLIND      MADONNA 

but  the  pressure  on  my  arm  stayed  the  move- 
ment. 

"Leave  it  there,  Mr.  Chadwick;  do  not 
touch  it !" 

Ah,  that  blind  Madonna !  The  number  re- 
peated, and  the  gold  and  bank  notes  which 
were  pushed  in  my  direction  seemed  like  a 
fortune  to  me.  I  turned  to  her,  expecting 
her  to  faint  at  the  sight  of  this  unprecedented 
luck.  No !  her  face  was  as  calm  as  that  of  one 
of  the  marble  Venuses.  But  her  hand  was 
still  tense  upon  my  arm.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
my  arm  began  to  ache,  but  I  dared  not  call 
her  attention  to  it. 

"Wait!"  she  said.    "Skip  one." 

I  did  so. 

"I  am  twenty-three;  play  a  hundred  louis 
on  that  number." 

I  placed  the  stake.  My  hands  trembled  so 
violently  that  the  gold  tumbled  and  rolled 
about  the  table.  I  gathered  it  quickly,  and 
replaced  it  as  the  croupier  bawled  out  that 
the  game  was  made. 

What  a  terrible  moment  that  was !    I  have 

70 


THE      BLIND      MADONNA 

seen  action  on  the  battle-field,  I  have  been  in 
runaways,  fires,  railroad  accidents,  but  I  shall 
never  again  know  the  terror  of  that  moment. 
How  she  ever  stood  it  I  don't  know. 

If  you  have  played  roulette  you  will  have 
observed  that  sometimes  the  ball  will  sink  to 
the  lower  rim,  but  will  not  drop  into  the  little 
compartments  intended  for  it;  that  is  to  say, 
it  will  hang  as  if  in  mid  air,  all  the  while 
making  the  circle.  Well,  the  ball  began  to 
play  us  the  agonizing  trick.  Twice  it  hung 
above  23 ;  twice  it  threatened  zero.  Heavens ! 
how  I  watched  the  ball,  how  the  girl  watched 
it,  how  all  save  the  croupier  watched  it !  Then 
it  fell— 23 ! 

"Put  it  all  on  black,"  she  whispered.  It 
was  all  like  clairvoyance. 

Black  won ;  again,  and  again ! 

**Gentlemen,  the  bank  is  closed,"  said  the 
croupier,  smiling.  He  put  the  ball  in  the 
silver  socket. 

I  had  actually  and  incontestably  (even 
inconceivably!)  broken  the  bank!  I  was, 
for   the    moment,    dumfounded.     How    they 

71 


THE      BLIND      MADONNA 

crowded  around  us,  the  aristocrats,  the  half- 
world,  the  confirmed  gamblers,  the  sightseers 
and  the  hangers-on !  From  afar  I  could  hear 
the  music  of  the  band.  They  were  playing  a 
polonaise  of  Chopin's.  I  was  like  one  in  a 
dream. 

"They  are  asking  you  where  to  send  the 
gold,"  she  said. 

"The  gold.?  Oh,  yes!  to  the  hotel,  to  the 
hotel!" — ^finding  my  senses. 

An  attendant  put  our  winnings  into  a 
basket,  and,  in  company  with  two  guardians 
of  the  peace,  or  gendarmes,  if  you  will  call 
them  so,  preceded  us  to  the  hotel. 

*'To  your  brother's  room.?"  I  asked. 

"At  once!  I  feel  as  if  I  were  about  to 
faint.  Mr.  Chadwick,  my  name  is  Carruthers. 
Will  you  go  to  my  brother's  room  with  me 
and  explain  all  this  to  him.?" 

I  nodded,  and  was  about  to  follow  her  with 
the  attendant  who  still  carried  our  gold,  when 
a  voice  struck  my  ear, — a  voice  which  filled  me 
with  surprise,  chagrin  and  terror. 

"So,  I  have  found  you !" 

72 


THE     BLIND     MADONNA 

A  handsome  woman  of  thirty-five  stood  at 
my  side.  Anger  and  wrath  lay  visibly  writ- 
ten on  her  face  and  in  her  eyes.  My  sister! 
She  did  not  appear  to  notice  the  young  girl 
beside  me,  who  instinctively  shrank  from  me 
at  the  sound  of  my  sister's  voice. 

"So,  I  have  found  you !  I  had  a  good  mind 
to  leave  you  here,  you  wretched  boy!  You 
have  wasted  your  patrimony,  you  have  lost 
over  these  abominable  gaming-tables  the 
house  in  which  we  both  were  born.  I  have 
heard  all;  not  a  word  of  excuse!  And  yet  I 
am  here  to  give  you  money  enough  to  reach 
home  with.    I  heard  all  about  you  at  Nice." 

In  spite  of  my  keen  chagrin,  I  found  my 
voice. 

"My  dear  sister,  I  thank  you  for  your  as- 
sistance, but  I  do  not  need  it.  I  have  just 
this  moment  broken  one  of  the  banks  at  the 
Casino."  I  beckoned  the  attendant  to  ap- 
proach. I  lifted  back  the  cover.  My  sister 
gasped. 

"Merciful  heavens !  how  much  is  in  there .''" 
she  asked,  overcome  at  the  sight  of  so  much 

73 


THE     BLIND      MADONNA 

money.  The  sudden  transition  from  wrath 
to  amazement  made  me  laugh. 

"Something  like  seventy  thousand,  my  dear 
Nan." 

"Pounds.?"  she  cried. 

"Dollars !" 

"And  who  is  this  young  woman?" — sud- 
denly, and  with  not  unjust  suspicion. 

Miss  Carruthers  flushed.  My  sister  had  a 
way  of  being  extraordinarily  insolent  upon 
occasion.  But  evidently  Miss  Carruthers 
came  of  equally  distinguished  blood.  She 
lifted  her  head  proudly,  and  her  eyes  flashed. 

"As  I  have  no  desire  to  enter  into  your  fam- 
ily affairs,"  she  said  haughtily  to  me,  "I  beg 
of  you  to  excuse  me."  She  made  as  though 
to  leave. 

"Wait !"  I  implored,  striving  to  detain  her. 
Somehow  I  felt  that  if  she  went  I  should  never 
see  her  again. 

**Let  me  go,  Mr.  Chadwick;  I  have  only 
the  kindest  regards  for  you." 

"But  the  money.?" 

"The  money?"  echoed  my  sister. 

74 


THE     BLIND     MADONNA 

"Nan,"  said  I  indignantly,  "but  for  this 
young  lady,  who,  I  dare  say,  comes  of  as  good 
a  family  as  ours —  Well,  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  her  you  might  have  carried  liie  home  in  a 
pine  box." 

"Robert !"— aghast. 

"Miss  Carruthers  is  a  lady,"  I  declared 
vehemently. 

^'Carruthers.?  You  are  English.?"  asked 
my  sister,  her  frown  smoothing.  "You  will 
certainly  pardon  me  if  I  have  been  rude ;  but 
this  brother  of  mine — " 

"Is  a  very  good  gentleman,"  Miss  Car- 
ruthers interrupted.  "My  name  is  now  known 
to  you ;  yours — " 

"Is  Lady  Rexford," — with  a  tilt  of  the 
chin. 

Miss  Carruthers  bent  forward. 

"Of  Suffolk.?" 

"Yes —  Merciful  heavens!  you  are  of 
the  Carruthers  who  are  my  neighbors  when  I 
am  at  home !  I  know  the  judge,  your  father, 
well." 

"My  father!"     The  burden  of  her  trouble 

75 


THE     BLIND     MADONNA 

came  back  to  her,  the  reaction  from  the  intense 
excitement  of  the  preceding  hour.  She 
reached  out  her  arms  bHndlj,  and  would  have 
fallen  had  not  my  sister  caught  her.    . 

**You  wretch!"  she  cried,  "what  have  you 
been  doing  to  this  girl?" 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Nan !  I  haven't  been  do- 
ing anything.  But  don't  let's  have  a  scene 
here.    Where's  your  room.'*" 

We  were  still  in  the  parlor  of  the  hotel, 
and  many  curious  glances  were  directed  at  us. 
The  attendant  had  set  down  his  heavy  and 
precious  burden,  and  was  waiting  patiently 
for  further  directions  from  me. 

"Don't  scold  him,"  said  Miss  Carruthers; 
"for  he  has  been  very  good  to  me."  She 
stretched  out  a  small  white  hand,  and  I 
clasped  it.  "Mr.  Chadwick,  make  me  a  solemn 
promise." 

"What  is  it?" — ^wondering. 

"Promise  me  never  to  play  games  of  chance 
again.  Think  of  what  might  have  happened 
if  God  hadn't  been  so  good  to  us  after  our 
having  been  so  bad." 

76 


THE     BlilND     MADONNA 

I  promised.  Then  we  went  to  my  sister's 
room,  and  the  whole  story  came  out. 

The  colonel  abruptly  concluded  his  narra- 
tive. 

"Here,  here !"  we  cried ;  "this  will  never  do. 
What  was  the  end?" 

"What  happened  to  young  Carruthers  .P" 
I  demanded,  with  the  novelist's  love  for  de- 
tails. 

"That  wasn't  his  name,"  repHed  the  colonel, 
smiling. 

"And  what  became  of  the  girl?"  asked 
Fletcher.  "You  can't  choke  us  off  that  way, 
Bob.    What  became  of  the  girl?" 

"Seventy  thousand  dollars ;  I  believe  you're 
codding  us  a  whole  lot,"  said  Collingwood. 

"You're  a  fakir  if  you  don't  tell  us  what 
became  of  the  girl,"  Fletcher  again  declared 
persistently. 

"Very  well,"  laughed  the  colonel;  "I'm  a 
fakir." 

But  the  very  ease  with  which  he  acknow- 
ledged this  confirmed  my  suspicions  that  he 

77 


THE      BLIND      MADONNA 

had  told  only  the  plain  truth.  At  this  mo- 
ment the  butler  appeared  in  the  doorway,  and 
•we  all  arose. 

"Madam  desires  me  to  announce  that  dinner 
is  served." 

The  Scotch  and  the  brandy  saved  the  colo- 
nel any  further  embarrassment;  we  were  all 
ravenously  hungry.  On  our  way  to  the  draw- 
ing-room where  we  were  to  join  the  ladies, 
Fletcher  began  hoping  for  a  clear,  cold  day 
for  the  morrow ;  and  the  colonel  escaped. 

It  was  my  happiness  to  take  in  the  hostess 
that  night.  She  was  toying  with  her  wine- 
glass, when  I  observed  that  the  bracelet  on  her 
beautiful  arm  had  a  curious  bangle. 

"I  thought  bangles  passe,"  I  said. 

"This  isn't  a  fad."  She  extended  her  arm 
or  the  bracelet  (I  don't  know  which)  for  my 
inspection. 

"Why,"  I  exclaimed  breathlessly,  "it  is  a 
miniature  French  louis !"  A  thousand  fancies 
flooded  my  brain. 

"Look,"  she  said.     She  touched  a  spring, 


78 


THE      BLIND      MADONNA 

and  the  bangle  opened,  discovering  the 
colonel's  youthful  face. 

"How  came  you  to  select  a  louis  for  a  ban- 
gle?" I  asked. 

"That  is  a  secret." 

"Oh,  if  it's  a  secret,  far  be  it  that  I  should 
strive  to  peer  within.  The  colonel  is  a  lucky 
dog.  If  I  were  half  as  lucky,  I  shouldn't  be 
writing  novels  for  a  living." 

"Who  knows  .P"  she  murmured,  a  far-away 
light  in  her  glorious  eyes. 


79 


NO  CINDERELLA 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF   THE   SATIN   SLIPPEE 


"Madam,  have  you  lost  a  slipper?"  I  asked 
politely.  I  held  toward  her  the  dainty  shoe 
that  might  very  well  have  appareled  the  foot 
of  Venus ;  only  one  can  not  quite  lift  the  im- 
agination to  the  point  of  picturing  Venus  ris- 
ing out  of  the  Cyprian  wave  in  a  pair  of  ball- 
room slippers. 

"I  am  not  yet  addressed  as  madam,"  said 
she,  calmly  drawing  her  skirts  about  her  feet, 
which  were  already  securely  hidden. 

**Not  yet?  Ah,  that  is  very  fortunate,  in- 
deed. I  see  I  am  not  too  late." 

"Sir!" 

But  I  saw  no  anger  on  her  face.  There 
was,  however,  a  mixture  of  amusement,  hau- 
teur (that  darling  word  of  the  lady  novel- 

81 


NO      CINDERELLA 

ists!)  and  objection.  She  hadn't  the  least 
idea  who  I  was,  and  I  was  not  going  to  tell 
her  for  some  time  to  come.  I  was  a  prodigal, 
with  a  few  new  ideas. 

"I  meant  nothing  more  serious  than  that 
you  might  happen  to  be  Cinderella,"  said  I. 
"What  in  the  world  should  I  do  with  Cinder- 
ella's slipper,  once  she  was  married  to  the 
prince  ?" 

She  swayed  her  fan  indolently,  but  made 
no  effort  to  rise.  I  looked  upon  this  as  rather 
encouraging. 

"It  would  be  somewhat  embarrassing  to 
ask  a  married  woman  if  she  were  Cinderella," 
I  proceeded. 

*'I  should  not  particularize,"  she  observed; 
**married  or  single,  it  would  be  embarrass- 
ing." 

She  was  charming ;  a  Watteau  shepherdess 
in  a  fashionable  ball-gown.  She  was  all  alone 
in  the  nook  at  the  farther  end  of  the  conserva- 
tory ;  and  I  was  glad.  Her  eyes  were  brown, 
with  a  ghnt  of  gold  around  the  pupils,  a  ka- 
leidoscopic iris,  as  it  were.     She  possessed  one 

82 


NO     CINDEREI.I.A 

of  those  adorable  chins  that  defy  the  future 
to  double  them;  smooth  and  round,  such  as  a 
man  delights  to  curve  his  palm  under;  and  I 
might  search  the  several  languages  I  know 
to  describe  fitly  her  red  mouth.  Her  hair  was 
the  color  of  a  fallen  maple-leaf,  a  rich,  soft, 
warm  October  brown,  streaked  with  red.  Pa- 
tience! You  may  laugh,  but,  for  my  part, 
give  me  a  dash  of  red  above  the  alabaster  brow 
of  a  pretty  woman.  It  is  a  mute  language 
which  speaks  of  a  sparkling  intellect;  and 
whenever  I  seek  the  exhilaration  that  rises 
from  a  witty  conflict,  I  find  me  a  woman  with 
a  glimmer  of  red  in  her  hair. 

*'Well,  sir.'"'  said  she,  breaking  in  upon  my 
train  of  specific  adjectives. 

"Pardon  me !  I  was  thinking  how  I  should 
describe  you  were  I  a  successful  novehst, 
which  I  declare  I  am  not." 

"You  certainly  have  all  the  assurance  of  a 
writer  of  books,  to  speak  to  me  in  this  man- 
ner." 

"My  assurance  is  based  wholly  upon  the 
possession  of  a  truant  slipper.    I  am  bold ;  but 

83 


NO      CINDEEEI.I.A 

the  end  justifies  the  means," — ^having  in  mind 
her  foot. 

Her  shoulders  drew  together  and  fell. 

*'I  am  searching  for  the  Cinderella  who  has 
lost  a  slipper;  and  I  am  going  to  call  you 
Cinderella  till  I  have  proof  that  you  are  not 
she  whom  I  seek." 

**It  is  very  kind  of  you,"  she  replied,  with  a 
hint  of  sunshine  struggling  at  the  corners  of 
her  lips.  *'Have  I  ever  met  you  before  .P" — 
puzzling  her  arched  brows. 

"Memory  does  not  follow  reincarnation,"  I 
answered  owlishly;  "but  I  dare  say  that  I 
often  met  you  at  the  Temple  of  Venus  in  the 
old,  old  days." 

She  appeared  slightly  interested. 

"What,  may  I  ask,  was  your  business  in  the 
old,  old  days?" 

"I  played  the  cithern." 

"And  I.?" 

"I  believe  you  distributed  flowers." 

"Do  you  know  the  hostess?" — with  solemn 
eyes. 

"Oh,  yes;  though  she  hasn't  the  slightest 

84 


NO     ClNDEHiJliLA 

recollection  of  me.  But  that's  perfectly  nat- 
ural. At  affairs  like  this  the  hostess  recalls 
familiarly  to  her  mind  only  those  who  sat  at 
her  dinner-table  earlier  in  the  evening.  All 
other  invitations  are  paid  obligations." 

"You  possess  some  discernment,  at  least." 

"Thank  you." 

*'But  I  wish  I  knew  precisely  what  you  are 
about," — ^her  eyes  growing  critical  in  their 
examination. 

"I  am  seeking  Cinderella,"  once  more  hold- 
ing out  the  slipper.  Then  I  looked  at  my 
watch.     **It  is  not  yet  twelve  o'clock." 

"You  are,  of  course,  a  guest  here," — rumi- 
nating, "else  you  could  not  have  passed  the 
footman  at  the  door." 

"Mark  my  attire;  or,  candidly,  do  I  look 
like  a  footman.''" 

"No-o;  I  can't  say  you  do;  but  in  Cin- 
derella, don't  you  know,  the  footman  carried 
the  slipper." 

"Oh,  I'm  the  prince,"  I  explained  easily; 
"I  dismissed  the  footman  at  the  door." 

*'Cinderella,"  she  mused.     She  nestled  her 

85 


NO     CiNDEEEIiLA 

feet,  and  looked  thoughtfully  at  her  delicate 
hands.  I  could  see  she  was  at  that  instant 
recalling  the  picture  of  Cinderella  and  the 
ash-heap. 

"What  was  the  prince's  name?" 

"In  this  case  it  is  just  a  prince  of  good  fel- 
lows." 

"I  should  like  some  witnesses."  She  gazed 
at  me  curiously,  but  there  was  no  distrust  in 
her  limpid  eye,  as  clear  and  moteless  as  Widow 
Wadman's. 

"Isn't  it  fine,"  I  cried  with  a  burst  of  con- 
fidence,  "to  possess  the  courage  to  speak  to 
strangers  ?" 

"It  is  equally  courageous  to  listen,"  was  the 
retort. 

"I  knew  I  should  like  you!" — with  enthu- 
siasm. 

She  stirred  uneasily.  It  might  have  been 
that  her  foot  had  suddenly  grown  chilled.  A 
storm  was  whirling  outside,  and  the  pale, 
shadowy  flakes  of  snow  brushed  the  windows. 

I  approached  her,  held  up  the  slipper  and 
contemplated   it    with    wrinkled   brow.     She 

86 


NO      CINDERELLA 

watched  me  covertly.  What  a  slipper!  So 
small  and  dainty  was  it,  so  light  and  airy,  that 
had  I  suddenly  withdrawn  my  hand  I  verily 
believe  it  would  have  floated.  It  was  part 
satin  and  part  skin,  and  the  light,  striking  the 
inner  side  of  it,  permeated  it  with  a  faint,  rosy 
glow. 

"What  a  darling  thing  it  is!" — ^unable  to 
repress  my  honest  admiration.  "Light  as  one 
of  those  snowflakes  out  yonder  in  the  night. 
What  a  proud  arch  the  instep  has !  Ah,  but 
it  is  a  high-bred  shoe,  fit  to  tread  on  the  heart 
of  any  man.    Lovely  atom !" 

She  stirred  again.    I  went  on : 

"It  might  really  belong  to  a  princess,  but 
only  in  a  fairy-book;  for  all  the  princesses  I 
have  ever  seen  couldn't  put  a  hand  in  a  shoe 
like  this,  much  less  a  foot.  And  when  I  de- 
clare to  you,  upon  my  honor,  that  I  have  met 
various  princesses  in  my  time,  you  will  appre- 
ciate the  compliment  I  pay  to  Cinderella." 

The  smile  on  her  lips  wavered  and  trembled, 
like  a  puff  of  wind  on  placid  water,  and  was 
gone. 

87 


NO     CINDERELLA 

**Leave  it,"  she  said,  melting,  "and  be 
gone." 

"I  couldn't.  It  wouldn't  be  gallant  at  all, 
don't  you  know.  The  prince  himself  put  the 
slipper  on  Cinderella." 

*'But  this  is  a  modern  instance,  and  a  pro- 
saic world.  Men  are  no  longer  gallants,  but 
business  men  or  club  gossips ;  and  you  do  not 
look  like  a  business  man." 

"I  never  belonged  to  a  club  in  my  life." 

"You  do  not  look  quite  so  unpopular  as  all 
that." 

A  witty  woman!  To  be  pretty  and  witty 
at  the  same  time — the  gifts  of  Minerva  and 
Venus  in  lavishment! 

"Besides,  it  is  all  very  improper,"  she 
added. 

"The  shoe?"  I  cried. 

**No ;  the  shoe  is  proper  enough." 

**You  admit  it,  then!" — ^joy fully. 

"I  refer  to  the  dialogue  between  two  per- 
sons who  have  not  been  introduced." 

"Convention  !  Formality  !  Detestable 
things,    always    setting    Romance    at    arm's 

88 


NO     CINDERELLA 

length,  and  making  Truth  desire  to  wear 
fashionable  clothes." 

"Nevertheless,  this  is  improper,"  she  re- 
peated. 

"Why,  it  doesn't  matter  at  all,"  I  said  neg- 
ligently. "We  both  have  been  invited  to  this 
house  to  dance;  that  is  to  say,  our  hostess 
would  not  invite  any  objectionable  persons. 
What  you  mean  to  say  is,  unconventional. 
And  I  hate  convention  and  formality." 

*'Are  you  a  poet,  then.''" — ^with  good-na- 
tured derision. 

"Oh,  no ;  I  have  an  earning  capacity  and  a 
pleasant  income." 

She  really  laughed  this  time ;  and  I  vaguely 
recalled  pearls  and  coral  and  murmuring 
brooks. 

**Won't  you  please  do  that  again?"  I 
asked  eagerly. 

But  there  must  have  been  something  in  my 
gaze  that  frightened  Mirth  away,  for  she 
frowned. 

Faintly  came  the  music  from  the  ball-room. 
They  were   playing  the   waltzes    from    The 

89 


NO     CINDEKELLA 

Qtieen's  Lace  Handkerchief.  The  agony  of 
an  extemporization  seized  me. 

"Strauss!"  I  cried,  flourishing  the  slipper. 
"The  blue  Danube,  the  moonshine  on  the 
water,  the  tittle-tattle  of  the  leaves,  a  man 
and  woman  all,  all  alone !  Romance,  love,  off 
to  the  wars!     .     .     ." 

"It  is  a  far  cry  to  Cinderella,"  she  inter- 
rupted. 

"Ah,  yes.    Music  moves  me  so  easily." 

"Indeed !  It  is  scarcely  noticeable," — slyly. 

"Are  you  Cinderella,  then?" 

"I  do  not  say  so." 

"Will  you  dance  with  me  to  prove  it  one 
way  or  the  other.?" 

"Certainly  not," — ^rather  indignantly. 

"Why  not?" 

"There  are  any  number  of  reasons,"  she  re- 
plied. 

"Name  just  one." 

"I  do  not  know  you." 

"You  ought  to," — with  a  double  meaning 
which  went  for  nothing. 

"My  angle  of  vision  obscures  that  idea.'* 

90 


NO     CINDEUEIiLA 

"If  you  will  stand  up  ..."  I  hesi- 
tatingly suggested. 

"I  am  perfectly  comfortable  -where  I  am," 
— with  an  oblique  glance  at  the  doorway. 

**I  am  convinced  that  you  are  the  Cinder- 
ella ;  I  can  not  figure  it  out  otherwise." 

"Do  not  figure  at  all;  simply  leave  the 
shoe." 

"It  is  too  near  twelve  o'clock  for  that.  Be- 
sides, I  wish  to  demolish  the  pumpkin  theory. 
It's  all  tommy-rot  about  changing  pumpkins 
into  chariots,  unless  you  happen  to  be  a  suc- 
cessful pie-merchant." 

She  bit  her  lips  and  tapped  her  cheek  with 
the  fan.     (Did  I  mention  the  bloomy  cheeks.'') 

"Perhaps  I  am  only  one  of  Cinderella's 
elder  sisters." 

"That  would  be  very  unfortunate.  You 
will  recollect  that  the  elder  sisters  cut  off 
their—" 

**Good  gracious!" 

"Cut  off  their  toes  in  the  mad  effort  to  cap- 
ture the  prince,"  I  continued. 

"But   I   am   not   trying   to   capture   any 

91 


NO      CINDERELLA 

prince,  not  even  a  fairy  prince;  and  I 
wouldn't — " 

"Cut  off  your  toes?"  I  suggested. 

"Prolong  this  questionable  conversation, 
only—" 

"You  can  not  stop  it  till  you  have  the  shoe," 
I  said. 

"Only,"  she  went  on  determinedly,  "I  am 
so  comfori:able  here  that  I  do  not  care  to  re- 
turn to  the  ball-room  just  at  present." 

"I  never  expected  such  a  full  compliment ;" 
and  I  made  her  my  most  engaging  bow. 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  have  to  cut  off  your 
toes  to  get  into  that  shoe," — ^maliciously. 

"I  could  expect  no  less  than  that  from  you. 
You  keep  coming  closer  to  my  ideal  every 
moment." 

She  shrugged  disdainfully  and  assumed  a 
bored  expression  that  did  not  deceive  me  in  the 
least. 

"Since  you  are  so  determined  to  continue 
this  dialogue,  go  and  fetch  some  one  you 
know.  An  introduction  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary."   She  seemed  immovable  on  this  point. 

92 


NO      CINDEREI.LA 

"And  the  moment  I  turned  my  back — pres- 
to !  away  would  go  Cinderella,  and  I  should  be 
in  the  dark  as  much  as  ever  regarding  the 
pumpkins.  No,  I  thank  you.  Be  good,  and 
confess  that  you  are  Cinderella." 

"Sir,  this  really  ceases  to  be  amusing." 
Her  fan  closed  with  a  snap. 

"It  was  serious  the  moment  I  entered  and 
saw  you,"  I  replied  frankly. 

**I  ought  to  be  annoyed  excessively.  You 
are  a  total  stranger;  I  declare  that  I  never 
saw  you  before  in  all  my  life.  It  is  true  that 
we  are  guests  in  the  same  house,  but  that  does 
not  give  privilege  to  this  particular  annoy- 
ance. Here  I  am,  talking  to  you  as  if  it  were 
distinctly  proper." 

"I  can  not  say  that  you  have  put  your  foot 
in  it  yet," — ^having  recourse  to  the  slipper 
again.    I  was  having  a  fine  time. 

She  smiled  in  spite  of  the  anger  which 
sparkled  in  her  eyes.  Of  course,  if  she  be- 
came downright  angry  I  should  tell  who  I 
was,  only  it  would  spoil  everything. 

"And  you  do  not  know  me.f*"  I  said  deject- 

93 


NO      CINDERELLA 

edly.    "Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  have 
never  dreamed  of  any  Prince  Charming?" 

*'I  can  not  say  I  have," — icily. 

A  flock  of  young  persons  came  in  noisily, 
but  happily  they  contented  themselves  with 
the  bowl  of  lemon-punch  at  the  other  end  of 
the  conservatory. 

I  sat  down  in  the  Roman  chair  which  stood 
at  the  side  of  the  window-seat.  I  balanced  the 
slipper  on  the  palm  of  my  hand.  Funny, 
isn't  it,  how  much  a  woman  will  put  up  with 
rather  than  walk  about  in  her  stockings.  And 
I  wasn't  even  sure  that  she  had  lost  a  shpper ! 
I  wondered,  too,  where  all  her  dancing  part- 
ners were. 

"You  say  you  do  not  know  me,"  I  be- 
gan. "Let  me  see," — narrowing  my  eyes  as 
one  does  who  attempts  to  recall  a  dim  and 
shadowy  past.  "Didn't  you  wear  your  hair 
in  two  plaits  down  your  back?" 

"That  is  regular;  it  is  still  the  custom;  it 
proves  nothing." 

"Let  me  recall  a  rambling  old  garret  where 
we  used  to  hold  shows." 
94 


NO     CINDERELLA 

Her  fan  opened  again,  and  the  tendrils  at 
her  temples  moved  gently. 

"Once  we  played  the  Sleeping  Beauty^  and 
you  said  that  I  should  always  be  Prince 
Charming.  How  easily  we  forget !" 

She  inclined  forward  a  bit.  There  were 
signs  of  reviving  interest.  She  began  to  scru- 
tinize me;  hitherto  she  had  surveyed  and  ex- 
amined me. 

"Once—" 

"Say  'Once  upon  a  time';  all  fairy  stories 
begin  that  way." 

"Thank  you;  I  stand  corrected.  Well, 
once  upon  a  time  you  fell  down  these  same 
garret  stairs ;  and  if  you  will  lift  that  beauti- 
ful lock  of  hair  from  your  right  temple  I  shall 
see  a  scar.   I  am  sure  of  your  identity." 

Unconsciously  her  hand  strayed  to  her  tem- 
ple, and  dropped. 

"Whoever  you  are,  you  seem  acquainted 
with  certain  youthful  adventures.  But  some 
one  might  have  told  you  these  things,  think- 
ing to  annoy  me."  Then  the  light  in  her  eyes 
grew  dim  with  the  struggle  of  retrospection, 

95 


NO      CINDEBELIiA 

the  effort  to  pierce  the  veil  of  absent  years, 
and  to  place  me  among  the  useless,  forgotten 
things  of  youth,  or  rather  childhood.  "No,  I 
can  not  place  you.  Please  tell  me  who  you  are, 
if  I  have  ever  known  you." 

"Not  just  now.  Mystery  arouses  a  woman's 
curiosity,  and  I  frankly  confess  that  I  wish 
to  arouse  yours.  You  are  nearly,  if  not  quite, 
twenty-four." 

"One  does  not  win  a  woman's  interest  by 
telling  her  her  age." 

**But  I  add  that  you  do  not  look  it." 

"That  is  better.  Now,  let  me  see  the  slip- 
per," holding  out  her  hand. 

"To  no  one  but  Cinderella.  I'd  be  a  nice 
prince,  wouldn't  I,  to  surrender  the  slipper 
without  finding  Cinderella!" 

**In  these  days  no  woman  would  permit  you 
to  put  on  her  slipper,  unless  you  were  her 
husband  or  her  brother." 

"No?  Then  I  have  a  much  perverted  idea 
of  society." 

"And," — passing  over  my  remark,  "she 
would  rather  sit  in  a  corner  all  the  evening." 

96 


NO      CINDERELLA 

"But  think  of  the  fun  you  are  missing !" 

"To  be  frank  with  you,  I  am  not  missing 
very  much  fun.  I  was  at  a  dance  last  night, 
and  the  novelty  begins  to  pall." 

"At  least,  then,  you  will  admit  that  I  have 
proved  a  diversion." 

"It  will  cost  me  nothing  to  admit  that ;  but 
I  think  you  are  rude  not  to  tell  me  right  away 
who  you  are." 

She  looked  out  of  the  blurred  windows. 
Her  profile  was  beautiful  to  contemplate, 
and  perhaps  she  knew  it. 

"Why  don't  you  seek  a  footman,"  she 
asked,  after  a  pause,  "and  have  him  announce 
that  you  have  found  a  slipper .?" 

"Have  you  no  more  regard  for  romance 
than  that?" 

"You  said  that  I  was  twenty-four  years 
old.  I  have  less  regard  for  romance  than  for 
propriety." 

"There  you  go  again,  battening  down  the 
hatches  of  convention!  I  am  becoming  dis- 
couraged." 

"Is  it  possiWe?  I  have  long  since  been." 

97 


NO     CINDEUEX,X.A 

She  had  always  been  a  match  for  me. 

Enter  upon  the  scene  (as  they  say  in  the 
play-books)  a  flurried  partner,  rather  young 
and  tender  to  be  thrown  in  company  with 
twenty-four  years  of  sparkling  femininity. 
Well,  that  was  his  affair ;  I  didn't  propose  to 
warn  him. 

"Oh,  here  you  are!"  he  cried,  brightening. 
"I've  been  looking  for  you  everywhere," — 
making  believe  that  something  was  the  matter 
with  his  gloves. 

"Do  you  know  this  gentleman.'"'  she  asked, 
pointing  to  me  with  her  fan. 

I  felt  a  nervous  tremor.  I  wondered  if  she 
had  been  waiting  for  a  moment  like  this. 

The  young  fellow  held  out  his  hand;  his 
smile  was  pleasant  and  inquiring. 

*'Wait  a  moment,"  she  interrupted  wick- 
edly. "I  am  not  introducing  you.  I  am  sim- 
ply asking  you  if  you  know  him." 

Wasn't  this  a  capital  revenge? 

"I  ...  I  can't  say  that  I  ever  saw 
the  gentleman  before,"  he  stammered,  might- 
ily bewildered.  Then  all  at  once  his  face  grew 

98 


NO      CINDERELLA 

red  with  anger.  He  even  balled  his  fists.  *'Has 
he  dared — " 

*'No,  no!  I  only  wished  to  know  if  you 
knew  him.  Since  you  do  not  there  is  nothing 
more  to  be  done  about  it." 

"But  if  he  has  insulted — ^" 

"Sh!  That's  not  a  nice  word  to  hear  in  a 
conservatory,"  she  warned. 

"But  I  do  not  understand." 

"It  is  not  necessary.  If  you  do  not  take 
me  instantly  to  the  ball-room  you  will  lose  the 
best  part  of  the  dance." 

She  rose,  and  then  I  saw  two  little  blue  slip- 
pers peeping  out  from  under  the  silken  skirts. 

'*You  might  have  told  me,"  I  said  reproach- 
fully. "And  now  I  do  not  believe  any  other 
Cinderella  will  do.  Young  man,"  said  I,  hold- 
ing out  the  slipper  for  his  inspection,  "I  was 
just  paying  this  lady  the  very  great  compli*- 
ment  of  thinking  that  this  might  be  her  shoe." 

"And  it  isn't,"  she  returned.  "Now,  in 
honor  to  yourself,  what  is  my  name?" 

"You  are  Nancy  Marsden." 

"And  you?" 

99 


NO      CINDERELLA 

**Your  humble  servant," — bending. 

"I  shall  soon  find  out." 

*'It  is  quite  possible." 

And  then,  with  a  hand  on  her  escort's  arm, 
she  laughed,  and  walked  (or  should  I  say 
glided.''  It  seems  a  sacrilege  to  say  that  so 
enchanting! a  creature  walked)  out  of  the  con- 
servatory, leaving  me  gazing  ruefully  and 
mournfully  at  the  little  white  slipper  in  my 
hand. 

Now,  where  in  the  world  was  Cinderella? 

II 

I  thrust  the  slipper  into  the  tail  of  my  coat, 
and  strolled  over  to  the  marble  bench  which 
partly  encircled  the  fountain.  The  tinkle  of 
the  falling  water  made  a  pleasant  sound.  Ten 
years!  I  had  been  away  ten  years.  How 
quickly  youth  vanishes  down  the  glimmering 
track  of  time!  Here  I  was  at  thirty,  rather 
old,  too,  for  that  number;  and  here  was  that 
pretty  girl  of  fourteen  grown  into  woman- 
hood, a  womanhood  that  would  have  stirred 

100 


NO      CINDERELLA 

the  pulses  of  many  a  man  less  susceptible 
than  myself.  That  she  was  unmarried  some- 
how made  me  glad,  though  why  I  can  not  say, 
unless  it  be  that  vanity  survives  everything. 

I  had  been  violently  in  love  with  her;  at 
that  time  she  hadn't  quite  turned  six.  Then  I 
had  lorded  it  over  her  tender  eighth  year,  and 
from  the  serene  height  of  twenty  I  had  looked 
down  upon  her  fourteen  in  a  fatherly,  patron- 
izing fashion.  As  I  recalled  her  new  glory 
the  truth  came  upon  me  that  she  was  like  to 
pay  me  back  with  interest  for  all  the  snubs  I 
had  given  her. 

Off  to  Heidelberg  and  Bonn  and  Berlin! 
Student  days !  Heigh-ho !  Ten  years  is  a  long 
time.  I  might  still  have  been  an  alien,  an 
exile,  but  for  my  uncle's  death  and  that  the 
lonely  aunt  wanted  a  man  about.  (Not  that 
I  was  much  of  a  man  to  have  about.)  In  all 
these  ten  years  I  had  not  once  visited  my  na- 
tive land,  scandalous  as  it  may  seem;  but  I 
had  always  celebrated  the  Fourth  of  July  in 
my  garden,  celebrated  it  religiously,  too,  and 
followed  the  general  elections. 

101 


NO      CINDERELLA 

All  these  people  (or  nearly  all  of  them)  I 
had  known  in  my  youth;  and  now  not  one  of 
them  recognized  me.  There  was  a  pang  in  tliis 
knowledge.  No  one  likes  to  be  completely  for- 
gotten, save  the  absconding  bank-clerk  and 
the  defeated  candidate.  I  had  made  no  effort 
to  recall  myself  to  those  I  met.  My  hostess 
thoughtlessly  supposed  that  I  should  take 
upon  myself  the  labor  of  renewing  acquaint- 
ance; but  I  found  this  rather  impossible. 
Everything  was  changed,  the  people  and  the 
city ;  the  one  had  added  to  its  height  and  the 
other  to  its  girth.  So  I  simply  wandered 
about  the  familiar  rooms  summoning  up  the 
pleasant  ghosts  of  bygone  days.  Then  came 
the  slipper  episode — and  Nancy! 

Home  again!  No  more  should  the  sea  call, 
nor  the  sky,  nor  the  hills ;  I  was  home  again, 
for  ever  and  for  ever,  so  I  hoped. 

And  then  I  glanced  up  from  my  reverie  to 
behold  a  woman,  fair,  fat  and  forty-eight, 
seat  herself  breathlessly  on  the  far  end  of  the 
bench.  I  recognized  her  instantly:  she  had 
been  one  of  the  salient  features  of  my  child- 

102 


NO      CINDEREIiLA 

hood,  only  a  little  farther  removed  than  my 
mother  herself.  She  was  florid  in  her  October 
years;  twenty  years  ago  she  had  been  plump 
and  pretty ;  now  she  was  only  pretty  plump. 
But  a  rollicking  soul  beamed  from  her  kindly 
eyes.  So  I  bethought  me  of  the  slipper, 
dragged  it  forth,  rose  and  approached. 

"Madam,"  said  I  gravely,  "are  you  Cin- 
derella.?" 

She  balanced  her  lorgnette  and  stared,  first 
at  the  slipper,  then  at  me. 

"Young  man,  don't  be  silly.  Do  I  look  like 
a  woman  who  could  wear  a  little  thing  like 
that.f*  Run  along  with  you,  and  don't  make 
fun  of  poor  old  women.  If  there  is  any  Cin- 
derella around  here  I'm  only  her  godmother." 

For  a  moment  I  stood  abashed.  Here  was 
one  who  had  outlived  vanity,  or  at  least  had 
discovered  its  worthlessness. 

"Have  you  no  vanity,  madam.'"'  I  asked 
solemnly. 

"If  I  have  it  has  ceased  to  protrude.  Go 
and  give  the  slipper  to  a  footman,  and  don't 
keep  some  girl  hopping  around  on  one  foot." 

103 


NO      CINDERELLA 

I  was  almost  tempted  to  tell  her  who  I  was. 

"Madam,  there  was  a  time" — I  began. 

*'0h,  yes;  thirty  years  ago  I  might  have 
claimed  the  slipper;  I  might  even  have  worn 
it," — complacently. 

*'Permit  me  to  conclude:  there  was  a  time 
when  you  held  me  on  your  knees." 

"What?" 

"It  is  indeed  so." 

"Confess,  then,  that  you  were  properly 
spanked.  .  .  .  Heavens  and  earth,  wher- 
ever did  you  come  from.?"  she  exclaimed  sud- 
denly. "Sit  down  beside  me  instantly !"  And 
she  called  me  by  name. 

It  was  the  third  time  I  had  heard  it  that 
night.  I  had  heard  it  so  infrequently  that  I 
liked  the  sound  of  it. 

"And  it  is  really  you?"  pushing  me  off  at 
arm's  length  the  better  to  observe  the  changes 
that  had  taken  place.  "You  grow  more  like 
your  father;  if  you  hadn't  that  beard  you 
would  be  the  exact  picture  of  your  father 
when  he  married  your  mother.  Oh,  what  a 
pretty  wedding  it  was !" 

104 


NO      CINDERELLA 

"I  shall  have  to  take  your  word  for  it.  I 
was  up  and  about,  however,  at  the  tin  anni- 
versary." 

"I  remember.  Oh,  but  what  a  racket  you 
made  among  the  pans !"  She  laughed  softly 
at  the  recollection. 

"I  was  properly  spanked  that  night,"  I  ad- 
mitted. 

And  straightway  wc  uncovered  thirty  and 
twenty  years  respectively. 

"By  the  way,"  said  I  carelessly,  **is  Nancy 
Marsden  engaged  to  be  married?" 

"Nancy,'*  She  never  will  be,  to  my  idea. 
She  recently  turned  down  a  real  duke :  a  duke 
that  had  money  and  everything." 

"And  everything:  is  that  castles?"  I  in- 
quired. 

"Nonsense !" 

*'Well,  between  you  and  me  and  the  gate- 
post. Miss  Nancy  will  be  engaged  within  two 
months." 

"No!"— excitedly. 

"It  is  written." 

"And  to  whom,  pray?" 

105 


NO      CINDERELLA 

*'It's  the  woman's  place  to  announce  an  en- 
gagement.  But  I  know  the  man." 

"He  is  worthy.?" 

*'0h,  as  men  go." 

Then  the  water-clock  in  the  fountain  struck 
twelve,  and  I  sprang  up. 

"Mercy,  I'll  never  find  any  Cinderella  at 
this  rate.   All  is  lost  if  she  escapes  me." 

I  kissed  her  hand  gratefully,  and  made  off. 

I  immediately  ran  into  a  young  miss  who, 
judging  from  her  short  dresses,  was  a  guest 
on  sufferance,  not  having  "come  out"  yet. 

"Are  you  Cinderella .?"  I  asked,  with  all  the 
gravity  I  could  assume. 

"Thank  you,  sir,  but  mama  will  not  per- 
mit me,"  her  cheeks  growing  furiously  red. 

I  passed  on,  willing  to  wager  that  the  little 
girl  had  understood  me  to  ask  her  to  dance 
with  me. 

How  I  searched  among  the  young  faces; 
many  I  saw  that  I  knew,  but  my  confounded 
beard  (which  I  determined  to  cut  the  very 
next  morning)  hid  me  as  completely  as  the 
fabled  invisible  cloak.   I  wondered  where  Jim 

106 


NO      CINDERELLA 

was — Nancy's  brother.  I  had  seen  him  in 
Europe,  and  I  knew  if  he  were  anywhere 
around  there  would  be  one  to  clap  me  on  the 
back  and  bid  me  welcome  home.  This  prodi- 
gal business  isn't  what  it's  cracked  up  to  be. 
Somehow  I  felt  that  within  a  few 
days  I  should  be  making  love  again  to  Nancy ; 
and  I  may  truthfully  add  that  I  dreaded  the 
ordeal  while  I  courted  it. 

What  if  she  refused  me  in  the  end.''  I  cast 
out  at  once  this  horrific  thought  as  unworthy 
a  man  of  my  address. 

Under  the  stairway  there  was  a  cozy  corner. 
Upon  the  cushions  I  saw  a  dark-haired  girl  in 
red.  Now,  when  they  haven't  a  dash  of  red 
in  their  hair  I  like  it  in  their  dress.  She  was 
pretty,  besides ;  so  I  stopped. 

*'Pardon  me,  but  won't  you  tell  me  if  you 
are  Cinderella?" — producing  the  slipper. 

**I  am," — with  an  amused  smile. 

"Then  there  is  a  Cinderella,  after  all.?"  I 
cried  joyfully.  "Where  are  the  pumpkins?'* 
glancing  about. 

107 


NO      CINDERELLA 

"I  believe  that  several  of  them  have  gone 
hunting  for  the  slipper." 

I  was  delighted.  Three  witty  women  all  in 
one  night,  and  two  of  them  charming.  It  was 
more  than  a  man  had  any  right  to  expect. 

"You  have  really  and  truly  lost  a  slipper  ?" 

"Really  and  truly ;  only  I  am  not  the  Cin- 
derella you  are  looking  for."  From  under 
her  skirt  there  came  into  view  (immediately 
to  disappear)  a  small  scarlet  slipper. 

I  was  very  much  taken  aback. 

"Red.?"  said  I.  "Ah,  I  have  it.  The  wicked 
fairy  has  cast  a  spell  over  the  slipper  and 
turned  it  white." 

*'That  would  simplify  everything  .  .  . 
if  we  lived  in  fairy-tale  times.  Oh,  dear,  there 
are  no  fairies  nowadays,  and  I  wonder  how  in 
the  world  I  am  to  get  home." 

"You  have  the  pumpkins  and  the  mice." 

"Only  the  pumpkins ;  it  is  after  twelve,  and 
all  the  mice  have  gone  home." 

"Haven't  you  an  incantation?" 

She  stretched  out  her  arms  dramatically. 
**Be  gone,  young  man,  be  gone !" 

108 


NO      CINDERELIiA 

"Very  good,"  said  I;  "but  I  am  impervi- 
ous to  incantations  of  that  sort." 

"I  wonder  where  the  other  Cinderella  is?" 
— adroitly.  It  was  quite  evident  that  she 
wanted  to  be  rid  of  me. 

If  I  hadn't  met  Nancy — ! 

"Supposing  I  try  this  white  slipper  on 
your  foot?" 

"It  is  not  a  supposable  matter." 

"Would  that  I  possessed  a  cobbler's 
license !" — sighing. 

She  laughed.  "You  wouldn't  be  half  so 
nice." 

This  was  almost  the  beginning  of  an  en- 
chantment. 

*'If  you  will  turn  your  head  toward  the 
wall  I'll  try  on  the  slipper.  I  am  curious  to 
learn  if  there  is  a  girl  here  who  has  a  smaller 
foot  than  I." 

"Vanity,  vanity,  all  is  vanity !" 

"  'Tisn't  vanity ;  it's  curiosity ;  and  maybe 
my  foot  is  getting  cold." 

I  took  some  pillows  and  piled  them  on  the 
floor.  "How  will  this  do?" 

109 


NO      CINDERELLA 

"Since  I  can  not  have  the  shpper  I  shall 
not  move.  Besides,  I  am  sitting  on  the  unshod 
foot.  Hadn't  you  better  sit  down  here  beside 
me  and  give  an  account  of  yourself  and  what 
you  have  been  doing  all  these  ten  years  ?" 

"You  know  me.''"  genuinely  astonished. 

*'But  you  do  not  know  me.'"' 

*'No;  it's  a  terrible  thing  to  admit,  but  I 
do  not  recognize  you." 

"Don't  you  remember  Betty  Lee.?" 

*'Betty  Lee  ?  That  homely  little  girl  turned 
into  a  goddess.'*  Small  wonder  that  I  didn't 
recognize  you." 

"My  girl  friends  all  say  that  I  haven't 
changed  a  bit  in  ten  years." 

"Envy,  malice,  jealousy !  But  it  is  odd  that 
you  should  recognize  me  and  that  Nancy 
Marsden  should  forget  me." 

**I  used  to  detest  you ;  we  forget  only  those 
we  loved." 

Enter  one  of  the  pumpkins,  a  young  fellow 
about  twenty.  Hang  it,  I  was  always  being 
interrupted  by  some  callow  youth ! 

**Here's  your  confounded  shoe,  Bett.    I've 

110 


NO      CINDEEELLA 

had  a  deuce  of  a  time  finding  it."  He  tossed 
the  slipper  cavalierly  into  her  lap. 

"Young  man,"  said  I  severely,  "you  will 
never  succeed  with  the  ladies." 

*'The  lady  happens  to  be  my  sister," — 
haughtily. 

"Pardon  me !" — contritely.  "I  should  have 
remembered  that  sisters  don't  belong." 

The  girl  laughed  and  pushed  out  one  of 
the  pillows.   Then  she  gave  me  the  slipper. 

"We'll  not  haggle  over  a  cobbler's  license," 
she  said. 

I  knelt  and  put  on  the  slipper.  Only  one 
thing  marred  the  completeness  of  my  happi- 
ness :  the  slipper  wasn't  a  blue  one. 

The  girl  stood  up  and  shook  the  folds  in 
her  dress,  then  turned  coldly  on  her  brother. 

"You  are  a  disgrace  to  the  family.  Bob." 

"Oh,  fudge!  Come  on  along  to  supper; 
it's  ready,  and  I'm  half  starved." 

Brothers  don't  belong,  either. 

"I  wish  you  luck  with  the  white  slipper," 
said  Betty,  as  she  turned  to  leave.  "Call  on 
me  soon,  and  I'll  forgive  all  the  past." 

Ill 


NO      CINDEEELLA 

"That  I  shall."  But  I  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  should  call  on  Nancy  first.  Otherwise 
it  would  be  dangerous. 

I  stood  alone.  It  rather  hurt  to  think  one 
girl  should  remember  me  and  that  the  other 
should  absolutely  forget.  But  supper  brought 
me  out  of  my  cogitations.  So  once  again  I 
put  away  the  slipper  and  looked  at  my  sup- 
per-card. I  was  destined  to  sit  at  table  four.  I 
followed  the  pilgrims  out  to  worship  at  the 
shrine  of  LucuUus. 

Evidently  there  was  no  Cinderella ;  or,  true 
to  her  condition  in  life,  she  was  at  this  mo- 
ment seated  before  her  ash-heap,  surrounded 
by  strutting  and  cooing  doves.  Well,  well,  I 
could  put  the  slipper  on  the  mantel  at  home ; 
it  would  be  a  pleasant  reminder. 

I  found  table  four.  There  were  four  chairs, 
none  of  them  occupied;  and  as  I  sat  down  I 
wondered  if  any  one  I  knew  would  sit  down 
with  me. 

A  heavy  hand  fell  rudely  upon  my  shoul- 
der. 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir,  by  entering  a 

112 


NO      CINDERELLA 

gentleman's  house  in  this  manner?"  demanded 
a  stern  voice. 

I  turned,  my  ears  burning  hotly. 

"You  old  prodigal !  You  old  man-without- 
a-country !  You  pirate !"  went  on  the  voice. 
"How  dared  you  sneak  in  in  this  fashion? 
Nan,  what  would  you  do  with  him  if  you  were 
in  my  place?"  The  voice  belonged  to  Nancy 
Marsden's  brother. 

"I  have  no  desire  to  put  myself  in  your 
place,"  said  the  only  girl  who  could  be  Cin- 
derella. 

"I  wouldn't  bother  about  his  slipper,  not 
if  he  went  barefooted  all  his  life,"  said  I. 

And  then,  and  then,  and  then!  What  a 
bombardment !  How  pleased  I  was !  I  was  in- 
ordinately happy,  and  I  didn't  eat  a  thing 
till  the  salad. 

"How  could  you !"  said  Nancy. 

"But  you  didn't  recognize  me," — with  a 
show  of  defiance;  "and  I  expected  that  you 
would  be  the  very  first." 

"Cut  off  that  horrid  beard." 

"To-morrow  morning." 

113 


NO      CINDERELLA 

"And  never  wear  it  again." 

"Never." 

"Have  you  found  Cinderella?"  Nancy 
asked  presently. 

"No ;  but  I  haven't  given  up  all  hope." 

"Let  me  see  it." 

With  some  hesltance  I  placed  the  slipper  in 
her  hand.   She  looked  at  it  sharply. 

"Good  gracious!" 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  this  slipper  has  never  been  worn  at 
all.  It  is  brand  new!"  She  was  greatly  be- 
wildered. 

"I  know  it,"  I  replied;  "I  brought  it  my- 
self." 

Then  how  she  laughed !  And  when  I  asked 
her  to  do  it  again  she  did,  even  more  heartily 
than  before. 

"You  will  always  be  the  same," — passing 
the  slipper  back  to  me. 

**No,  I  want  to  be  just  a  little  different 
from  now  on," — inscrutably. 

She  gave  me  an  indescribable  glance. 

"Give  the  slipper  to  me." 

114 


NO     CINDERELLA 

"To  keep?" 

"Yes,  to  keep.    Somehow,  I  rather  fancy  I 
should  like  to  try  it  on," — demurely. 
So  I  gave  her  the  slipper. 


115 


TWO   CANDIDATES 


AN   ADVENTURE   IN   LOVE   AND   POLITICS 


To  begin  with,  I  am  going  to  call  things  by 
their  real  name.  At  first  glance  this  statement 
will  give  you  a  shiver  of  terror,  that  is,  if  you 
happen  to  be  a  maiden  lady  or  a  gentleman 
with  reversible  cufi's.  But  your  shivers  will  be 
without  reason.  Prue  may  read,  and  modest 
Prue's  mama;  for  it  isn't  going  to  be  a 
naughty  story;  on  the  contrary,  grandma's 
spring  medicines  are  less  harmless.  Yet, 
there  is  a  parable  to  expound  and  a  moral  to 
point  out ;  but  I  shall  leave  these  to  your  own 
discernment. 

It  has  always  appealed  to  me  as  rather  a 
silly  custom  on  a  story-teller's  part  to  invent 
names  for  the  two  great  political  parties  of 
the  United  States ;  and  for  my  part,  I  am  go- 
ing to  call  a  Democrat  a  Democrat  and  a  Re- 

117 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

publican  a  Republican,  because  these  titles 
are  not  so  hallowed  in  our  time  as  to  be  dis- 
guised in  print  and  uttered  in  a  bated  breath. 
There  is  no  lese-majeste  in  America. 

Men  inclined  toward  the  evil  side  of  power 
will  be  found  in  all  parties,  and  always  have 
been.  Unlike  society,  the  middle  class  in  poli- 
tics usually  contains  all  the  evil  elements.  In 
politics  the  citizen  becomes  the  lowest  order, 
and  the  statesman  the  highest ;  and,  thanks  to 
the  common  sense  of  the  race,  these  are  largely 
honest  and  incorruptible.  When  these  become 
disintegrated,  a  republic  falls. 

Being  a  journalist  and  a  philosopher,  I 
look  upon  both  parties  with  tolerant  con- 
tempt. The  very  nearness  of  some  things  dis- 
illusions us ;  and  I  have  found  that  only  one 
illusion  remains  to  the  newspaper  man,  and 
that  is  that  some  day  he'll  get  out  of  the 
newspaper  business.  I  vote  as  I  please,  though 
the  family  does  not  know  this.  The  mother  is 
a  Republican  and  so  is  the  grandmother ;  and 
loving  peace  in  the  house,  I  dub  myself  a  Re- 
publican till  that  moment  when  I  enter  the 

118 


TWO      CANDIDATES 

voting-booth.    Then  I  become  an  individual 
who  votes  as  his  common  sense  directs. 

The  influence  of  woman  in  politics  is  no  in- 
considerable matter.  The  great  statesman 
may  flatter  himself  that  his  greatness  is  due 
to  his  oratorical  powers;  but  his  destiny  is 
often  decided  at  the  breakfast-table.  Why 
four-fifths  of  the  women  lean  toward  Repub- 
licanism is  something  no  mere  historian  can 
analyze. 

In  my  town  politics  had  an  evil  odor.  For 
six  years  a  Democrat  had  been  mayor,  and  for 
six  years  the  town  had  been  plundered.  For 
six  years  the  Republicans  had  striven,  with 
might  and  main,  to  regain  the  power  . 
and  the  right  to  plunder.  It  did  not  matter 
which  party  ruled,  graft  (let  us  omit  the 
quotation  marks)  was  the  tocsin.  The  citi- 
zens were  robbed,  openly  or  covertly,  accord- 
ing to  the  policy  of  the  party  in  office.  There 
was  no  independent  paper  in  town;  so,  from 
one  month's  end  to  another  it  was  leaded  edi- 
torial vituperation.  Then  Caliban  revolted. 
An  independent  party  was  about  to  be  formed. 

119 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

The  two  bosses,  however,  were  equal  to  the 
occasion.  They  immediately  hustled  around 
and  secured  as  candidates  for  the  mayoralty 
two  prominent  young  men  whose  honesty  and 
integrity  were  unimpeachable.  Caliban,  as  is 
his  habit,  sheathed  his  sword  and  went  back 
to  his  bench,  his  desk,  or  whatever  his  occu- 
pation was. 

On  the  Republican  side  they  nominated  a 
rich  young  club-man.  Now,  as  you  will  read- 
ily agree,  it  is  always  written  large  on  the  po- 
litical banner  that  a  man  who  is  rich  has  no 
incentive  to  become  a  grafter.  The  public  is 
ever  willing  to  trust  its  funds  to  a  millionaire. 
The  Democrats,  with  equal  cunning,  brought 
forward  a  brilliant  young  attorney,  whose  in- 
come was  rather  moderate  but  whose  ability 
and  promise  were  great.  The  Democratic  or- 
gans hailed  his  nomination  with  delight. 

**We  want  one  of  the  people  to  represent  us, 
not  one  of  the  privileged  class."  You  see, 
there  happened  to  be  no  rich  young  Democrat 
available. 

These  two  candidates  were  close  personal 

120 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

friends.  They  had  been  chums  from  boyhood 
and  had  been  graduated  from  the  same  col- 
lege. They  belonged  to  the  same  clubs,  and 
were  acknowledged  to  be  the  best  horsemen  in 
town.  As  to  social  prominence,  neither  had 
any  advantage  over  the  other,  save  in  the  eyes 
of  matrons  who  possessed  marriageable  (and 
extravagant)  daughters.  Williard,  the  Re- 
publican nominee,  was  a  handsome  chap,  lib- 
eral-minded and  generous-hearted,  without  a 
personal  enemy  in  the  world.  I  recollect  only 
one  fault :  he  loved  the  world  a  little  too  well. 
The  opposition  organs,  during  the  heat  of  the 
campaign,  dropped  vague  hints  regarding 
dinners  to  singers  and  actresses  and  large 
stakes  in  poker  games.  Carrington,  his  op- 
ponent, was  not  handsome,  but  he  had  a  fine 
clean-cut,  manly  face,  an  intrepid  eye,  a  reso- 
lute mouth,  and  a  tremendous  ambition.  He 
lived  well  within  his  income,  the  highest 
recommendation  that  may  be  paid  to  a  young 
man  of  these  days. 

He  threw  himself  into  the  fight  with  all  the 
ardor  of  which  his  nature  was  capable ;  where- 

121 


TWO      CANDIDATES 

as  Williard  was  content  to  let  the  machine  di- 
rect his  movements.  The  truth  is,  Williard 
was  indifferent  whether  he  became  mayor  or 
not.  To  him  the  conflict  was  a  diversion,  a 
new  fish  to  Lucullus;  and  when  the  Demo- 
cratic organs  wrote  scathing  editorials  about 
what  they  termed  his  profligate  career,  he 
would  laugh  and  exhibit  the  articles  at  the 
club.  It  was  all  a  huge  joke.  He  made  very 
few  speeches,  and  at  no  time  could  he  be 
forced  into  the  foreign  districts.  He  com- 
plained that  his  olfactory  nerve  was  too  deli- 
cately educated.  The  leaders  swallowed  their 
rancor ;  there  was  nothing  else  for  them  to  do. 
In  Williard's  very  lack  of  ambition  lay  his 
strength.  Poverty  would  have  made  a  great 
man  out  of  him;  but  riches  have  a  peculiar 
way  of  numbing  the  appreciation  of  the 
greater  and  simpler  things  in  life. 

Carrington  went  everywhere;  the  Poles 
hurrahed  for  him,  the  Germans,  the  Irish,  the 
Huns  and  the  Italians.  And  he  made  no  prom- 
ises which  he  did  not  honestly  intend  to  fulfil. 
To  him  the  fight  meant  everything ;  it  meant 

122 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

fame  and  honor,  a  comfortable  addition  to  his 
income,  and  Washington  as  a  finality.  He 
would  purify  the  Democrats  while  he  annihi- 
lated the  pretensions  of  the  Republicans.  He 
was  what  historians  call  an  active  dreamer,  a 
man  who  dreams  and  then  goes  forth  to  ac- 
complish things.  His  personality  was  engag- 
ing. 

Besides  all  this  (for  the  secret  must  be 
told)  Carrington  was  in  love  and  wished  to 
have  all  these  things  to  lay  at  the  feet  of  his 
beloved,  even  if  she  returned  them.  You  will 
regularly  find  it  to  be  true  that  the  single 
man  is  far  more  ambitious  than  his  married 
brother.  The  latter  invariably  turns  over  the 
contract  to  his  wife. 

Williard  was  deeply  in  love,  too,  with  Sen- 
ator Gordon's  lovely  daughter,  and  Senator 
Gordon  was  that  mysterious  power  which  di- 
rected the  Republican  forces  in  his  section  of 
the  state.  So  you  may  readily  believe  that 
Carrington  was  forced  to  put  up  a  better  fight 
than  Williard,  who  stood  high  in  Senator 
Gordon's  favor.   The  girl  and  the  two  young 

123 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

men  had  been  friends  since  childhood,  and  no- 
body knew  whether  she  cared  for  either  of 
them  in  the  way  they  desired.  Everybody  in 
town,  who  was  anybody,  understood  the  situa- 
tion; and  everybody  felt  confident  that  Wil- 
liard  was  most  likely  to  win.  The  girl  never 
said  anything,  even  to  her  intimate  friends; 
but  when  the  subject  was  brought  up,  she 
smiled  in  a  way  that  dismissed  it. 

Such  was  the  political  situation  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  municipal  campaign.  There 
have  been  like  situations  in  any  number  of 
cities  which  boast  of  one  hundred  thousand 
inhabitants  or  more;  perhaps  in  your  town, 
and  yours,  and  yours.  That  bugaboo  of  the 
politician,  reform,  brings  round  this  phenom- 
enon about  once  in  every  eight  years.  For  a 
while  the  wicked  ones  promise  to  be  good,  and 
you  will  admit  that  that  helps. 

It  was  amusing  to  follow  the  newspapers. 
They  vilified  each  other,  ripped  to  shreds  the 
character  of  each  candidate,  recalled  boy- 
hood escapades  and  magnified  them  into 
frightful  crimes,  and  declared  in  turn  that  the 

124 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

opposition  boss  should  land  in  the  penitentiary 
if  it  took  all  the  type  in  the  composing-rooms 
to  do  it.  What  always  strikes  me  as  odd  is 
that,  laughter-loving  people  that  we  are,  no- 
body laughs  during  these  foolish  periods.  In- 
stead, everybody  goes  about,  straining  his 
conscience  and  warping  his  common  sense 
into  believing  these  flimsy  campaign  lies, 
these  political  roorbacks. 

When  Williard  and  Carrington  met  at  the 
club,  at  the  Saturday-night  luncheons,  they 
avoided  each  other  tactfully,  each  secretly 
longing  to  grasp  the  other's  hand  and  say: 
"Don't  believe  a  word  of  it,  old  boy;  it's  all 
tommy-rot."  But  policy  held  them  at  arm's 
length.  What  would  the  voters  say  if  they 
heard  that  their  respective  candidates  were 
hobnobbing  at  a  private  club?  Carrington 
played  billiards  in  the  basement  while  Williard 
played  a  rubber  at  whist  up  stairs;  and  the 
Saturday  rides  out  to  the  country  club  be- 
came obsolete.  Only  a  few  cynics  saw  the 
droll  side  of  the  situation ;  and  they  were  con- 
fident that  when  the  election  was  over  the 

125 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

friendship  would  be  renewed  all  the  more 
strongly  for  the  tension. 

One  night,  some  weeks  before  the  election, 
Williard  dined  alone  with  the  senator  at  the 
Gordon  home.  Betty  Gordon  was  dining  else- 
where. With  the  cognac  and  cigars,  the  sen- 
ator drew  out  a  slip  of  paper,  scrutinized  it 
for  a  space,  then  handed  it  to  his  protege. 

"That's  the  slate.   How  do  you  like  it?" 

Williard  ran  his  glance  up  and  down  the 
columns.   Once  he  frowned. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  the  senator 
shrewdly. 

"I  do  not  like  the  idea  of  Matthews  for 
commissioner  of  pubhc  works.  He's  a  black- 
leg,— there's  no  getting  around  that.  He 
practically  runs  that  faro-bank  above  his 
down-town  saloon.  Can't  you  put  some  one 
else  in  his  place  ?" 

The  senator  filliped  the  ash  from  the  end  of 
his  cigar. 

"Honestly,  my  boy,  I  agree  with  your  ob- 
jection; but  the  word  is  given,  and  if  we  turn 
him  down  now,  your  friend  Carrington  will 

126 


T  V7"  O      CANDIDATES 

stand  a  pretty  fair  show  of  being  the  next 
mayor." 

"You  might  get  a  worse  one,"  Williard 
laughed.  "Jack  is  one  of  the  finest  fellows  in 
the  world," — ^loyally. 

"Not  a  bit  of  doubt;  but  politically,"  said 
the  senator,  laughing,  "he  is  a  rascal,  a  man 
without  a  particle  of  character,  and  all  that. 
But  personally  speaking,  I  would  that  this 
town  had  more  like  him.  Win  or  lose,  he  will 
always  be  welcome  in  this  house.  But  this 
Matthews  matter;  you  will  have  to  swallow 
him  or  be  swallowed." 

"He's  a  rascal." 

"Perhaps  he  is.  Once  you  are  elected,  how- 
ever, you  can  force  him  out,  and  be  hanged 
to  him.  Just  now  it  would  be  extremely  dan- 
gerous. My  boy,  politics  has  strange  bed-fel- 
lows, as  the  saying  goes.  These  men  are  nec- 
essary; to  fight  them  is  to  cut  your  own 
throat.  No  one  knows  just  how  they  get  their 
power;  but  one  morning  you  wake  up  and 
find  them  menacing  you,  and  you  have  to  pla- 
cate them  and  toss  them  sops." 

127 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

"I  might  at  least  have  been  consulted." 

"I  appreciated  your  antagonism  before- 
hand. Politics  is  a  peculiar  business.  A  man 
must  form  about  himself  a  shell  as  thick  as  a 
turtle's,  or  his  feelings  are  going  to  be  hurt. 
Now,  if  you  would  like  to  change  any  of 
these  smaller  offices,  the  health  department 
doesn't  matter.  What  do  you  say  ?" 

"Oh,  if  Matthews  remains  on  the  slate,  I  do 
not  care  to  alter  the  rest  of  it.  But  I  warn  you 
that  I  shall  get  rid  of  him  at  the  earliest  op- 
portunity." 

"Just  as  you  like." 

The  senator  smiled  covertly.  Matthews  was 
one  of  his  henchmen  in  the  larger  matters  of 
state.  His  name  had  been  the  first  to  appear 
on  the  slate,  and  the  senator  was  determined 
that  it  should  remain  there.  Not  that  he  had 
any  liking  for  the  man ;  simply  he  was  one  of 
the  wheels  which  made  the  machine  run 
smoothly.  The  senator  knew  his  power  of  per- 
suasion; he  knew  Williard's  easy-going  na- 
ture ;  but  he  also  knew  that  these  easy-going 
persons  are  terribly  stubborn  at  times.    He 

128 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

was  obliged  to  hold  on  to  Matthews.  The 
gubernatorial  campaign  was  looming  up  for 
the  ensuing  year,  and  the  senator  was  curious 
to  learn  the  real  power  that  went  with  the  seal 
of  a  governor  of  a  first-class  state. 

There  fell  an  intermission  to  the  conversa- 
tion. WiUiard  smoked  thoughtfully.  He  re- 
called the  years  during  which  he  had  accepted 
the  generous  hospitality  of  this  house,  and  the 
love  he  held  for  the  host's  daughter.  Only 
since  his  return  from  abroad  had  he  learned 
the  strength  of  his  sentiment.  Heretofore  he 
had  looked  upon  the  girl  as  a  sister,  jolly, 
talented,  a  fine  dancer,  a  daring  rider,  a  good 
comrade.  He  had  been  out  of  the  country  for 
three  years.  On  his  return  he  had  found  Betty 
Gordon  a  beautiful  woman,  and  he  had  silent- 
ly surrendered.  As  yet  he  had  said  nothing, 
but  he  knew  that  she  knew.  Yet  he  always  saw 
the  shadow  of  Carrington,  old  Jack  Carring- 
tdn.  Well,  let  the  best  man  win ! 

"I  can  find  a  way  to  dispose  of  Matthews," 
he  said  finally. 

"I  dare  say." 

129 


TWO      CANDIDATES 

But  Williard  did  not  know  the  tenacity 
with  which  some  men  cling  to  office.  The  sen- 
ator did. 

Here  the  servant  ushered  in  two  lieutenants 
of  the  senator's.  One  was  an  ex-consul  and 
the  other  was  the  surveyor  of  customs,  who 
was  not  supposed  to  dabble  in  local  politics. 

"Everything  is  agreeable  to  Mr.  Williard,'* 
the  senator  answered  in  reply  to  the  question- 
ing looks  of  his  subordinates.  "He  vows,  how- 
ever, that  he  will  shake  Matthews  when  he 
gets  the  chance." 

The  new  arrivals  laughed. 

"We'll  put  you  through,  young  man," 
said  the  ex-consul;  "and  one  of  these  fine 
days  we  shall  send  you  to  France.  That's  the 
place  for  a  man  of  your  wit  and  wealth." 

WiUiard  smiled  and  lighted  a  fresh  cigar. 
He  did  possess  the  reputation  of  being  a  clever 
wit,  and  in  his  secret  heart  he  would  much 
prefer  a  consulate  or  a  secretaryship  at  the 
French  embassy.  He  thoroughly  detested  this 
indiscriminate  hand-shaking  which  went  with 
local  politics. 

130 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

But  Matthews  stuck  in  his  gorge,  and  he 
wondered  if  Carrington  was  going  through 
any  like  ordeal,  and  if  Carrington  would  sub- 
mit so  readily.  .  .  .  Why  the  deuce 
didn't  Betty  return?  It  was  almost  nine 
o'clock. 

Presently  her  sunny  countenance  appeared 
in  the  doorway,  and  Williard  dropped  his 
cigar  joyfully  and  rose.  It  was  worth  all  the 
politics  in  the  world ! 

"Gentlemen,  you  will  excuse  me,"  he  said. 

"Go  along!"  the  senator  cried  jovially. 
**We  can  spare  you." 

As  indeed  they  very  well  could ! 

In  a  minute  Williard  was  in  the  music-room. 

**I  really  do  not  know  that  I  ought  to  shake 
hands  with  you,  Dick,"  began  Betty,  tossing 
her  hat  on  the  piano.  "You  have  deceived  me 
for  years." 

"Deceived  you!  What  do  you  mean?" — 
mightily  disturbed. 

"Wait  a  moment."  She  brought  forth  a 
paper.  "Sit  down  in  front  of  me.  This  is  go- 
ing to  be  a  court  of  inquiry,  and  your  sins 

131 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

shall  be  passed  in  review."  He  obeyed  meekly. 
"Now  listen,"  the  girl  went  on,  mischief  in  her 
eyes;  "this  paper  says  horrid  things  about 
you.  It  claims  that  you  have  given  riotous 
dinners  to  actresses  and  comic-opera  singers. 
I  classify  them  because  I  do  not  think  comic- 
opera  singers  are  actresses." 

"Rot !"  said  Williard,  crossing  his  legs  and 
eying  with  pleasure  the  contours  of  her  face. 
"Jolly  rot!" 

"You  mustn't  say  'jolly'  in  this  country; 
it's  English,  and  they'll  be  accusing  you  of 
it." 

"Well,  bally  rot;  how  will  that  go?" 

"That  isn't  very  pretty,  but  it  will  pass. 
Now,  to  proceed.  They  say  that  your  private 
life  is  profligate." 

"Oh,  come  now,  Betty!"  laughing  diffi- 
dently. 

"They  say  that  you  gamble  at  poker  and 
win  and  lose  huge  sums." 

"Your  father  plays  poker  in  Washington; 
I've  seen  him." 

'*He's  not  on  trial ;  you  are.  Furthermore," 

132 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

went  on  the  girl,  the  twinkle  going  from  her 
eye,  leaving  it  searching  yet  unfathomable, 
"this  editor  says  that  you  are  only  a  dummy 
In  this  game  of  politics,  and  that  once  you  are 
mayor,  your  signature  will  be  all  that  will  be 
required  of  you.  That  Is  to  say,  you  will  be 
nothing  but  a  puppet  in  the  hands  of  the  men 
who  brought  about  your  election." 

Wllliard  thought  of  Matthews,  and  the 
smile  on  his  lips  died. 

"Now,  Dick,  this  paper  says  that  It  seeks 
only  the  truth  of  things,  and  admits  that  you 
possess  certain  engaging  qualities.  What  am 
I  to  beHeve?" 

"Betty,  you  know  very  well  that  they'll 
have  me  robbing  the  widows  before  election." 
He  was  growing  restless.  He  felt  that  this 
trial  wasn't  all  play.  "If  you  don't  mind,  I'd 
rather  talk  of  something  else.  Politics,  poli- 
tics, morning,  noon  and  night  until  my  ears 
ache !" 

"Or  bum,"  suggested  the  girl.  "The 
things  they  say  about  your  private  life — I 
don't  care  for  them.  I  know  that  they  are  not 

133 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

truths.  But  the  word  'puppet'  annoys  me." 
She  laid  aside  the  paper. 

"Have  I  ever  acted  like  a  dummy,  Betty? 
In  justice  to  me,  have  I?"  He  was  serious. 

"Not  in  ordinary  things." 

"No  one  has  ever  heard  that  I  broke  a 
promise." 

"No." 

"Or  that  I  was  cowardly." 

"No,  no!" 

"Well,  if  I  am  elected,  I  shall  fool  certain 
persons.  I  am  easy-going;  I  confess  to  that 
impeachment;  but  I  have  never  been  crossed 
successfully." 

"They'll  know  how  to  accomplish  their 
ends  without  crossing  you.  That's  a  part  of 
the  politician's  business." 

"If  I  am  elected,  I'll  study  ways  and  means. 
Hang  it,  I  wasn't  running  after  office.  They 
said  that  they  needed  me.  As  a  property 
owner  I  had  to  surrender.  I  am  not  a  hypo- 
crite ;  I  never  was.  I  can't  go  honestly  among 
the  lower  classes  and  tell  them  that  I  like 
them,  shake  their  grimy  hands,  hobnob  with 

134 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

them  at  caucuses  and  in  gloomy  halls.  I  am 
not  a  politician ;  my  father  was  not  before  me ; 
it  isn't  in  my  blood.  I  haven't  the  necessary 
ambition.  Carrington's  grandfather  was  a 
war-governor;  mine  was  a  planter  in  the 
South.  Now,  Carrington  has  ambition  enough 
to  carry  him  to  the  presidency;  and  I  hope 
he'll  get  it  some  day,  and  make  an  ambassador 
out  of  me.  Sometimes  I  wish  I  wasn't  rich,  so 
that  I  might  enjoy  life  as  some  persons  do. 
To  have  something  to  fight  for  constantly !  I 
am  spoiled." 

He  wheeled  his  chair  toward  the  fire  and 
rested  his  elbows  on  his  knees. 

"He's  very  handsome,"  thought  the  girl; 
but  she  sighed. 

n 

That  same  evening  Carrington  and  McDer- 
mott,  the  Democratic  leader,  met  by  appoint- 
ment in  the  former's  law-ofiices.  McDermott 
was  a  wealthy  steel-manufacturer  who  had 
held  various  state  and  national  offices.    As  a 

135 


TWO      CANDIDATES 

business  man  his  policy  was  absolute  honesty. 
He  gave  liberal  wages,  met  his  men  person- 
ally, and  adjusted  their  differences.  There 
were  as  many  Republicans  as  Democrats  in  his 
employ.  Politics  never  entered  the  shop. 
Every  dollar  in  his  business  had  been  honestly 
earned.  He  was  a  born  leader,  kindly,  humor- 
ous, intelligent.  But  once  he  put  on  his  silk 
hat  and  frock  coat,  a  metamorphosis,  strange 
and  incomprehensible,  took  place.  He  became 
altogether  a  different  man;  cold,  purposeful, 
determined,  bitter,  tumbling  over  obstacles 
without  heart  or  conscience,  using  all  means 
to  gain  his  devious  ends;  scheming,  plotting, 
undermining  this  man  or  elevating  that,  a 
politician  in  every  sense  of  the  word ;  cunning, 
astute,  long-headed,  far-seeing.  He  was  not 
suave  like  his  old  enemy,  the  senator;  he  was 
blunt  because  he  knew  the  fullness  of  his 
power.  But  for  all  his  bluntness,  he  was,  when 
need  said  must,  a  diplomat  of  no  mean  order. 
If  he  brought  about  a  shady  election,  he  had 
the  courage  to  stand  by  what  he  had  done*  He 
was  respected  and  detested  alike. 

136 


TWO      CANDIDATES 

The  present  incumbent  in  the  city  hall  was 
no  longer  of  use  to  him.  He  was  wise  enough 
to  see  that  harm  to  his  power  would  come 
about  in  case  the  reform  movement  got  head- 
way ;  he  might  even  be  dethroned.  So  his  gen- 
eral's eye  had  lighted  on  Carrington,  as  the 
senator's  had  lighted  on  Williard;  only  he 
had  mistaken  his  man  where  the  senator  had 
not. 

"My  boy,"  he  began,  "I'm  going  to  lecture 
you." 

"Go  ahead,"  said  Carrington.  "I  know 
what  the  trouble  is.  I  crossed  out  Mr.  Mur- 
phy's name  from  the  list  you  fixed  up  for  my 
inspection." 

"And  his  name  must  go  back," — smiling. 
*'We  can't  afford  to  turn  him  down  at  this 
late  day." 

"I  can,"  said  the  protege  imperturbably 
and  firmly. 

For  a  moment  their  glances  met  and 
clashed. 

"You  must  always  remember  the  welfare  of 
the  party," — gently. 

137 


TWO      CANDIDATES 

"And  the  people,"  supplemented  the  ad- 
monished one. 

"Of  course,"— with  thin  lips.  "But  Mur- 
phy's name  must  stand.  We  depend  upon  the 
eighth  ward  to  elect  you,  and  Murphy  holds 
it  in  his  palm.  Your  friend  Wilhard  will  be 
forced  to  accept  Matthews  for  the  same  rea- 
son.  It's  a  game  of  chess,  but  a  great  game." 

"Matthews.?  I  don't  believe  it.  Williard 
would  not  speak  to  him  on  the  street,  let  alone 
put  him  on  the  ticket." 

"Wait  and  see." 

"He's  a  blackleg,  a  gambler,  worse  than 
Murphy." 

"And  what  is  your  grievance  against  Mur- 
phy ?  He  has  always  served  the  party  well." 

"Not  to  speak  of  Mr.  Murphy." 

"What  has  he  done.?" 

"He  has  sold  his  vote  three  times  in  the 
common  council.  He  sold  it  once  for  two  thou- 
sand dollars  in  that  last  pavement  deal.  I 
have  been  rather  observant.  Let  him  re- 
main alderman ;  I  can  not  see  my  way  clear  to 
appoint  him  to  a  position  in  the  city  hall." 

138 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

McDermott's  eyes  narrowed.  "Your  accu- 
sations are  grave.  If  Murphy  learns,  he  may 
make  you  prove  it." 

Carrington  remained  silent  for  a  few  min- 
utes, his  face  in  thoughtful  repose ;  then  hav- 
ing decided  to  pursue  a  certain  course,  he 
reached  into  a  pigeon-hole  of  his  desk  and  se- 
lected a  paper  which  he  gave  to  McDermott. 
The  latter  studied  the  paper  carefully.  From 
the  paper  his  glance  traveled  to  the  face  of 
the  young  man  opposite  him.  He  wondered 
why  he  hadn't  taken  more  particular  notice 
of  the  cleft  chin  and  the  blue-gray  eyes.  Had 
he  made  a  mistake.?  Was  the  young  fellow's 
honesty  greater  than  his  ambition?  McDer- 
mott returned  the  paper  without  comment. 

"Is  that  proof  enough?"  Carrington  asked, 
a  bit  of  raillery  in  his  tones. 

"You  should  have  told  me  of  this  long 
ago." 

"I  hadn't  the  remotest  idea  that  Murphy's 
name  would  turn  up.  You  can  very  well  un- 
derstand that  I  can  not  consider  this  man's 
name  as  an  appointee." 

139 


TWO      CANDIDATES 

"Why  hasn't  it  been  turned  over  to  the  dis- 
trict attorney?" 

"The  plaintiff  is  a  patient  man.  He  left  it 
to  me.  It  is  a  good  sword,  and  I  may  have  to 
hold  it  over  Mr.  Murphy's  neck." 

McDermott  smiled. 

"The  Democratic  party  in  this  county 
needs  a  strong  tonic  in  the  nature  of  a  clean 
bill.  I  want  my  appointees  men  of  high  stand- 
ing ;  I  want  them  honest ;  I  want  them  not  for 
what  they  have  done,  but  what  they  may  do." 

McDermott  smiled  again.  "I  have  made  a 
mistake  in  not  coming  to  you  earlier.  There 
is  a  great  future  for  a  man  of  your  kidney, 
Carrington.  You  have  a  genuine  talent  for 
pontics.  You  possess  something  that  only  a 
dozen  men  in  a  hundred  thousand  possess,  a 
tone.  Words  are  empty  things  unless  they  are 
backed  by  a  tone.  Tone  holds  the  auditor, 
convinces  him,  directs  him  if  by  chance  he  is 
wavering.  You  are  a  born  orator.  Miller  re- 
tires from  Congress  next  year.  His  usefulness 
in  Washington  has  passed.  How  would  you 
like  to  succeed  him  ?" 

140 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

Insidious  honey !  Carrington  looked  out 
of  the  window.  Washington !  A  seat  among 
the  Seats  of  the  Mighty !  A  torch-light  pro- 
cession was  passing  through  the  street  below, 
and  the  noise  of  the  fife  and  drum  rose.  The 
world's  applause;  the  beating  of  hands,  the 
yells  of  triumph,  the  laudation  of  the  press, — 
the  world  holds  no  greater  thrill  than  this. 
Art  and  literature  stand  pale  beside  it.  But  a 
worm  gnawed  at  the  heart  of  this  rose,  a 
cancer  ate  into  the  laurel.  Carrington  turned. 
He  was  by  no  means  guileless. 

"When  I  accepted  this  nomination,  I  did  so 
because  I  believed  that  the  party  was  in  dan- 
ger, and  that,  if  elected,  I  might  benefit  the 
people.  I  have  remained  silent ;  I  have  spoken 
but  little  of  my  plans ;  I  have  made  few  prom- 
ises. Mr.  McDermott,  I  am  determined,  first 
and  foremost,  to  be  mayor  in  all  the  meaning 
of  the  word.  I  refuse  to  be  a  figure-head.  I 
have  crossed  out  Murphy's  name  because  he  is 
a  dishonest  citizen.  Yes,  I  am  ambitious;  but 
I  would  forego  Washington  rather  than  reach 
it  by  shaking  Murphy's  hand."  The  blood  of 

141 


TWO      CANDIDATES 

the  old  war-governor  tingled  in  his  veins  at 
that  moment. 

"It  must  be  replaced," — quietly. 

"In  face  of  that  document.?" 

"In  spite  of  it." 

"I  refuse!" 

"Listen  to  reason,  my  boy ;  you  are  young, 
and  you  have  to  learn  that  in  politics  there's 
always  a  bitter  pill  with  the  sweet.  To  elect 
you  I  have  given  my  word  to  Murphy  that  he 
shall  have  the  office." 

"You  may  send  Mr.  Murphy  to  me,"  said 
Carrington  curtly,   "I'll  take  all  the  blame." 

"This  is  final.?" 

"It  is.  And  I  am  surprised  that  you  should 
request  this  of  me." 

"He  will  defeat  you." 

"So  be  it." 

McDermott  was  exceedingly  angry,  but  he 
could  not  help  admiring  the  young  man's  reso- 
luteness and  direct  honesty. 

*'You  are  making  a  fatal  mistake.  I  shall 
make  an  enemy  of  the  man,  and  I  shall  not  be 
able  to  help  you.  I  have  a  great  deal  at  stake. 

142 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

If  we  lose  the  eighth,  we  lose  everything,  and 
for  years  to  come." 

"Perhaps.  One  dishonest  step  leads  to  an- 
other, and  if  I  should  sanction  this  man,  I 
should  not  hesitate  at  greater  dishonesty.  My 
honesty  is  my  bread  and  butter  .  .  .  and 
my  conscience." 

"Corporations  have  no  souls ;  politics  has  no 
conscience.    Williard     ..." 

"My  name  is  Carrington," — abruptly.  "In 
a  matter  of  this  kind  I  can  not  permit  myself 
to  be  subjected  to  comparisons.  You  brought 
about  my  present  position  in  municipal  af- 
fairs." 

"We  had  need  of  you,  and  still  need  you," 
confessed  the  other  reluctantly.  "The  party 
needs  new  blood." 

"You  are  a  clever  man,  Mr.  McDermott; 
you  are  a  leader ;  let  me  appeal  to  your  better 
judgment.  Murphy  is  a  blackguard,  and  he 
would  be  in  any  party,  in  any  country.  In 
forcing  him  on  me,  you  rob  me  of  my  self-re- 
spect." 

McDermott  shrugged.    "In  this  case  he  is 

143 


TWO      CANDIDATES 

a  necessary  evil.  The  success  of  the  party  de- 
pends upon  his  good  will.  Listen.  Will  you 
find,  in  all  this  wide  land,  a  ruling  municipal- 
ity that  is  incorrupt?  Is  there  not  a  fly  in  the 
ointment  whichever  way  you  look  ?  Is  not  dis- 
honesty fought  with  dishonesty;  isn't  it  cor- 
ruption against  corruption.''  Do  you  believe 
for  a  minute  that  you  can  bring  about  this 
revolution  ?  No,  my  lad ;  no.  This  is  a  work- 
aday world;  Utopia  is  dreamland.  You  can 
easily  keep  your  eye  on  this  man.  If  he  makes 
a  dishonest  move,  you  can  find  it  in  your 
power  to  remove  him  effectually.  But  I  swear 
to  you  that  he  is  absolutely  necessary." 

"Well,  I  will  assume  the  risk  of  his  dis- 
pleasure." 

"Show  him  your  document,  and  tell  him 
that  if  he  leaves  you  in  the  lurch  at  the  polls, 
you'll  send  him  to  prison.  That's  the  only 
way  out."   McDermott  thought  he  saw  light. 

"Make  a  blackmailer  of  myself.''   Hardly." 

"I  am  sorry."  McDermott  rose.  "You  are 
digging  a  pit  for  a  very  bright  future." 

"Politically,  perhaps." 

144 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

"If  you  are  defeated,  there  is  no  possible 
method  of  sending  you  to  Washington  in 
Miller's  place.  You  must  have  popularity  to 
back  you.  I  have  observed  that  you  are  a  very 
ambitious  young  man." 

"Not  so  ambitious  as  to  obscure  my  sense  of 
right." 

"I  like  your  pluck,  my  boy,  though  it 
stands  in  your  own  light.  I'll  do  all  I  can  to 
pacify  Murphy.  Good  night  and  good  luck 
to  you."  And  McDermott  made  his  departure. 

Carrington  remained  motionless  in  his 
chair,  studying  the  night.  So  much  for  his 
dreams !  He  knew  what  McDermott's  "I'll  do 
what  I  can"  meant.  If  only  he  had  not  put 
his  heart  so  thoroughly  into  the  campaign! 
Was  there  any  honesty?  Was  it  worth  while 
to  be  true  to  oneself.''  Murphy  controlled 
nearly  four  hundred  votes.  For  six  years  the 
eighth  ward  had  carried  the  Democratic  party 
into  victory.  Had  he  turned  this  aside?  For 
years  the  elections  had  been  like  cheese-par- 
ings ;  and  in  ten  years  there  hadn't  been  a  ma- 
jcrity  of  five  hundred  votes  on  either  side.  If 

145 


TWO      CANDIDATES 

Murphy  was  a  genuine  party  man,  and  not  a 
leech,  he  would  stand  square  for  his  party  and 
not  consider  personal  enmity.  What  would  he 
do  when  he  heard  from  McDermott  that  he 
(Carrington)  had  deliberately  crossed  him 
off  the  ticket  of  appointees  ? 

From  among  some  old  papers  in.  a  drawer 
Carrington  produced  the  portrait  of  a  young 
girl  of  sixteen  in  fancy  dress.  When  he  had 
studied  this  a  certain  length  of  time,  he  took 
out  another  portrait:  it  was  the  young  girl 
grown  into  superb  womanhood.  The  eyes 
were  kind  and  merry,  the  mouth  beauti- 
ful, the  brow  fine  and  smooth  like  a  young 
poet's,  a  nose  with  the  slightest  tilt;  alto- 
gether a  high-bred,  queenly,  womanly  face, 
such  as  makes  a  man  desire  to  do  great 
things  in  the  world.  Carrington  had  al- 
ways loved  her.  He  had  gone  through  the 
various  phases:  the  boy,  the  diffident  youth, 
the  man.  (Usually  it  takes  three  women  to 
bring  about  these  changes !)  There  was  noth- 
ing wild  or  incoherent  in  his  love,  nothing 
violent  or  passionate ;  rather  the  serene  light, 

146 


two    candidates! 

the  steady  burning  light,  that  guides  the  ships 
at  sea ;  constant,  enduring,  a  sure  beacon. 

As  he  studied  the  face  from  all  angles,  his 
jaws  hardened.  He  lifted  his  chin  defiantly. 
He  had  the  right  to  love  her;  he  had  lived 
cleanly,  he  had  dealt  justly  to  both  his  friends 
and  his  enemies,  he  owed  no  man,  he  was 
bound  only  to  his  mother,  who  had  taught  him 
the  principles  of  manly  living.  He  had  the 
right  to  love  any  woman  in  the  world.  .  .  . 
And  there  was  Williard, — ^handsome,  easy- 
going old  Dick!  Why  was  it  written  that 
their  paths  must  cross  in  everything?  Yes, 
Dick  loved  her,  too,  but  with  an  affection  that 
had  come  only  with  majority.  Williard  had 
everything  to  offer  besides.  Should  he  step 
down  and  aside  for  his  friend .''  Did  friendship 
demand  such  a  sacrifice?  No!  Let  Williard 
fight  for  her  as  he  (Carrington)  intended  to 
fight  for  her ;  and  if  Williard  won,  there  would 
be  time  then  to  surrender. 

It  was  almost  twelve  when  the  scrub-woman 
aroused  him  from  his  reveries.  He  closed  his 
desk  and  went  home,  his  heart  full  of  battle. 

147 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

He  would  put  up  the  best  fight  that  was  in 
him,  for  love  and  for  fame;  and  if  he  lost  he 
would  still  have  his  manhood  and  self-respect, 
which  any  woman  might  be  proud  to  find  at 
her  feet,  to  accept  or  decline.  He  would  go 
into  Murphy's  own  country  and  fight  him 
openly  and  without  secret  weapons.  He  knew 
that  he  held  it  in  his  power  to  coerce  Murphy, 
but  that  wasn't  fighting. 

Neither  of  the  candidates  slept  well  that 
night. 

So  the  time  went  forward.  The  second 
Tuesday  in  November  was  but  a  fortnight  off. 
Carrington  fought  every  inch  of  ground.  He 
depended  but  little,  if  any,  upon  McDermott's 
assistance,  though  that  gentleman  came  gal- 
lantly to  his  rescue,  as  it  was  necessary  to  save 
his  own  scalp.  It  crept  into  the  papers  that 
there  was  a  rupture  between  Murphy  and  the 
Democratic  candidate.  The  opposition  papers 
cried  in  glee;  the  others  remained  silent. 
Murphy  said  nothing  when  questioned;  he 
simply  smiled.    Carrington  won  the  respect 

148 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

of  his  opponents.  The  laboring  classes  saw  In 
him  a  Moses,  and  they  hailed  him  with  cheers 
whenever  they  saw  him. 

There  were  many  laughable  episodes  dur- 
ing the  heat  of  the  campaign ;  but  Carrington 
knew  how  and  when  to  laugh.  He  answered 
questions  from  the  platform,  and  the  ill-man- 
nered were  invariably  put  to  rout  by  his  good- 
natured  wit.  Once  they  hoisted  him  on  top  of 
a  bar  in  an  obscure  saloon.  His  shoulders 
touched  the  gloomy  ceiling,  and  he  was  forced 
to  address  the  habitues,  with  his  head  bent  like 
a  turtle's,  his  nose  and  eyes  offended  by  the 
heat  and  reek  of  kerosene  and  cheap  tobacco. 
They  had  brought  him  there  to  bait  him ;  they 
carried  him  out  on  their  shoulders.  To  those 
who  wanted  facts  he  gave  facts;  to  some  he 
told  humorous  stories ;  and  to  others  he  spoke 
his  sincere  convictions. 

Meantime  WilHard  took  hold  of  affairs, 
but  in  a  bored  fashion.  He  did  the  best  he 
knew  how,  but  it  wasn't  the  best  that  wins 
high  places  in  the  affections  of  the  people. 

The  betting  was  even. 

149 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

Election  day  came  round  finally — one  of 
those  rare  days  when  the  pallid  ghost  of  sum- 
mer returns  to  view  her  past  victories,  when 
the  broad  wings  of  the  West  go  a-winnowing 
the  skies,  and  the  sun  shines  warm  and  grate- 
ful. On  that  morning  a  change  took  place 
in  Carrington's  heart.  He  became  filled  with 
dread.  After  leaving  the  voting-polls  early  in 
the  morning,  he  returned  to  his  home  and  re- 
fused to  see  any  one.  He  even  had  the  tele- 
phone wires  cut.  Only  his  mother  saw  him, 
and  hovered  about  him  with  a  thousand  kindly 
attentions.  At  the  door  she  became  a  veritable 
dragon ;  not  even  telegraph  messengers  could 
pass  her  or  escape  her  vigilance. 

At  six  in  the  evening  Carrington  ordered 
around  his  horse.  He  mounted  and  rode  away 
into  the  hill  country  south  of  the  city,  into  the 
cold  crisp  autumn  air.  There  was  fever  in  his 
veins  that  needed  cooling;  there  were  doubts 
and  fears  in  his  mind  that  needed  clearing. 
He  wanted  that  sense  of  physical  exhaustion 
which  makes  a  man  indifferent  to  mental 
blows. 

150 


TWO     CANDIDATEa 

The  day  passed  and  the  night  came. 
Election  night!  The  noisy,  good-natured 
crowds  in  the  streets,  the  jostling,  snail-mov- 
ing crowds !  The  illuminated  canvas-sheets  in 
front  of  the  newspaper  offices!  The  blare  of 
horns,  the  cries,  the  yells,  the  hoots  and  hur- 
rahs! The  petty  street  fights!  The  stalled 
surface-cars,  the  swearing  cabbies,  the  ven- 
ders of  horns  and  whistles,  the  newsboys 
hawking  their  extras !  It  is  the  greatest  of  all 
spectacular  nights;  humanity  comes  out  into 
the  open. 

The  newspaper  offices  were  yellow  with 
lights.  It  was  a  busy  time.  There  was  a  con- 
tinuous coming  and  going  of  messengers, 
bringing  in  returns.  The  newspaper  men 
took  off  their  coats  and  rolled  up  their  sleeves. 
Figures,  figures,  thousands  of  figures  to  sift 
and  resift!  Filtering  through  the  various 
noises  was  the  maddening  click  of  the  tele- 
graph instruments.  Great  drifts  of  waste  pa- 
per littered  the  floors.  A  sandwich  man 
served  coffee  and  sandwiches.  The  chief  dis- 
tributed   cigars.     Everybody    was    writing, 

151 


TWO      CANDIDATES 

writing.  Five  men  were  sent  out  to  hunt  for 
Carrington,  but  none  could  find  him.  His 
mother  refused  to  state  where  he  had  gone ;  in 
fact,  she  knew  nothing  save  that  he  had  gone 
horseback  riding. 

At  nine  there  was  a  gathering  at  the  club. 
Williard  was  there,  and  all  who  had  charge  of 
the  wheels  within  wheels.  They  had  ensconced 
themselves  in  the  huge  davenports  in  the  bow- 
window  facing  the  street,  and  had  given  or- 
ders to  the  steward  to  charge  everything  that 
night  to  Senator  Gordon.  A  fabulous  num- 
ber of  corks  were  pulled;  but  gentlemen  are 
always  orderly. 

Williard,  however,  seemed  anything  but 
happy.  He  had  dined  at  the  senator's  that 
evening,  and  something  had  taken  place  there 
which  the  general  public  would  never  learn. 
He  was  gloomy,  and  the  wine  he  drank  only 
added  to  his  gloom. 

The  younger  element  began  to  wander  in, 
carrying  those  execrable  rooster-posters.  A 
gay  time  ensued. 

Carrington  had  ridden  twelve  miles   into 

152 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

the  country.  At  eight  o'clock  the  temperature 
changed  and  it  began  to  snow.  He  turned 
and  rode  back  toward  the  city,  toward  vic- 
tory or  defeat.  Sometimes  he  went  at  a  can- 
ter, sometimes  at  a  trot.  By  and  by  he  could 
see  the  aureola  from  the  electric  lights  waver- 
ing above  the  city.  Once  he  struck  a  wind- 
match  and  glanced  at  his  watch.  Had  he  lost 
or  had  he  won.''  A  whimsical  inspiration  came 
to  him.  He  determined  to  hear  victory  or  de- 
feat from  the  lips  of  the  girl  he  loved.  The 
snow  fell  softly  into  his  face  and  melted. 
His  hair  became  matted  over  his  eyes;  his 
gauntlets  dripped  and  the  reins  became  slip- 
pery; a  steam  rose  from  the  horse's  body,  a 
big-hearted  hunter  on  which  he  had  ridden 
many  a  mile. 

"Good  boy!"  said  Carrington;  "we'll  have 
it  first  from  her  lips." 

Finally  he  struck  the  asphalt  of  the  city 
limits,  and  he  slowed  down  to  a  walk.  He 
turned  into  obscure  streets.  Whenever  he  saw 
a  bonfire,  he  evaded  it. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  he  drew  up  in  front 

153 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

of  the  Gordon  home.  He  tied  his  horse  to  the 
post  with  the  hitching-chain  and  knotted  the 
reins  so  that  they  would  not  slip  over  the 
horse's  head,  wiped  his  face  with  his  hand- 
kerchief, and  walked  bravely  up  to  the  ver- 
anda. There  were  few  lights.  Through  the 
library  window  he  saw  the  girl  standing  at  the 
telephone.  He  prayed  that  she  might  be 
wholly  alone.  After  a  moment's  hesitation  he 
pressed  the  button  and  waited. 

Betty  herself  came  to  the  door.  She  peered 
out. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"I  did  not  expect  that  you  would  recognize 
me,"  said  Carrington,  laughing. 

"John?  Where  in  the  world  did  you  come 
from?" — ^taking  him  by  the  arm  and  drag- 
ging him  into  the  hall.   "Good  gracious !" 

"The  truth  is,  Betty,  I  took  to  my  heels  at 
six  o'clock,  and  have  been  riding  around  the 
country  ever  since."  He  sent  her  a  penetrat- 
ing glance. 

"Come  in  to  the  fire,"  she  cried  impulsively. 
*'You  are  cold  and  wet  and  hungry." 

154 


TWO      CANDIDATES 

"Only  wet,"  he  admitted  as  he  entered  the 
cheerful  library.  He  went  directly  to  the 
blazing  grate  and  spread  out  his  red,  wet, 
aching  hands.  He  could  hear  her  bustling 
about ;  it  was  a  pleasant  sound.  A  chair  rolled 
up  to  the  fender ;  the  rattle  of  a  tea-table  fol- 
lowed. It  was  all  very  fine.  "I  ought  to  be 
ashamed  to  enter  a  house  in  these  reeking 
clothes,"  he  said ;  "but  the  temptation  was  too 
great." 

"You  are  always  welcome,  John," — softly. 

His  keen  ear  caught  the  melancholy  sym- 
pathy in  her  tone.  He  shrugged.  He  had  lost 
the  fight.  Had  he  won,  she  would  already 
have  poured  forth  her  congratulations. 

"Sit  down,"  she  commanded,  "while  I  get 
the  tea.  Or  would  you  prefer  brandy .''" 

"The  tea,  by  all  means.  I  do  not  need 
brandy  to  bolster  up  my  courage."  He  sat 
down. 

She  left  the  room  and  returned  shortly  with 
biscuit  and  tea.  She  filled  a  cup,  put  in  two 
lumps  of  sugar,  and  passed  the  cup  to  him. 

"You've  a  good  memory,"  he  said,  smiling 

155 


TWO      CANDIDATES 

at  her.  "It's  nice  to  have  one's  likes  remem- 
bered, even  in  a  cup  of  tea.  I  look  as  if  I  had 
been  to  war,  don't  I.?" 

She  buttered  a  biscuit.  He  ate  it,  not  be- 
cause he  was  hungry,  but  because  her  fingers 
had  touched  it.  It  was  a  phantom  kiss.  He 
put  the  cup  down. 

"Now,  which  is  it;  have  I  been  licked,  or 
have  I  won?" 

"What!"  she  cried;  "do  you  mean  to  tell 
me  you  do  not  know.'"'  She  gazed  at  him  be- 
wilderedly. 

"I  have  been  four  hours  in  the  saddle.  I 
know  nothing,  save  that  which  instinct  and 
the  sweet  melancholy  of  your  voice  tell  me. 
Betty,  I've  been  licked,  haven't  I,  and  old 
Dick  has  gone  and  done  it,  eh?" 

The  girl  choked  for  a  moment;  there  was 
a  sob  in  her  throat. 

"Yes,  John." 

Carrington  reached  over  and  tapped  the 
hearth  with  his  riding-crop,  absent-mindedly. 
The  girl  gazed  at  him,  her  eyes  shining  in  a 
mist  of  unshed  tears.     .     .     .     She  longed 

156 


TWO     CANDIDATES 

to  reach  out  her  hand  and  smooth  the  fur- 
rows from  his  care-worn  brow,  to  brush  the 
melting  crystals  of  snow  from  his  hair ;  longed 
to  soothe  the  smart  of  defeat  which  she  knew 
was  burning  his  heart.  She  knew  that  only 
strong  men  suffer  in  silence. 

From  a  half-opened  window  the  night 
breathed  upon  them,  freighted  with  the  far- 
off  murmur  of  voices. 

"I  confess  to  you  that  I  built  too  much  on 
the  outcome.  I  am  ambitious;  I  want  to  be 
somebody,  to  take  part  in  the  great  affairs  of 
the  world.  I  fought  the  very  best  I  knew  how. 
I  had  many  dreams.  Do  you  recollect  the 
verses  I  used  to  write  to  you  when  we  were 
children  ?  There  was  always  something  of  the 
poet  in  me,  and  it  is  still  there,  only  it  no 
longer  develops  on  paper.  I  had  looked 
toward  Washington  .  .  .  even  toward 
you,  Betty." 

Silence.  The  girl  sat  very  still.  Her  face 
was  white  and  her  eyes  large. 

"I  am  honest.  I  can  see  now  that  I  have  no 
business   in  politics.     .     .     ."    He  laughed 

157 


TWO      CANDIDATES 

suddenly  and  turned  toward  the  girl.  "I  was 
on  the  verge  of  wailing.  I'm  licked,  and  I 
must  begin  all  over  again.  Dick  will  make  a 
good  mayor,  that  is,  if  they  leave  him  alone. 
.  Whimsical,  wasn't  it,  of  me,  coming 
here  to  have  you  tell  me  the  news."  He  looked 
away. 

The  girl  smiled  and  held  out  her  hand  to 
him,  and  as  he  did  not  see  it,  laid  it  gently  on 
his  sleeve. 

"It  does  not  matter,  John.  Some  day  you 
will  realize  all  your  ambitions.  You  are  not 
the  kind  of  man  who  gives  up.  Defeat  is  a 
necessary  step  to  greatness;  and  you  will  be- 
come great.  I  am  glad  that  you  came  to  me." 
She  knew  now;  all  her  doubts  were  gone,  all 
the  confusing  shadows. 

Carrington  turned  and  touched  her  hand 
with  his  lips. 

"Why  did  you  come  to  me.''"  she  asked  with 
fine  courage. 

His  eyes  widened.  "Why  did  I  come  to 
you-f*  If  I  had  won  I  should  have  told  you. 
But  I  haven't  won;  I  have  lost." 

158 


TWO      CANDIDATES 

*'Does  that  make  the  difference  so  great?" 

"It  makes  the  difficulty  greater." 

"Tell  me !" — with  a  voice  of  command. 

They  both  rose  suddenly,  rather  uncon- 
sciously, too.  Their  glances  held,  magnet  and 
needle-wise.  Across  the  street  a  bonfire  blazed, 
and  the  ruddy  light  threw  a  mellow  rose  over 
their  strained  faces. 

"I  love  you,"  he  said  simply.  "That  is 
what  drew  me  here,  that  is  what  has  always 
drawn  me  here.  But  say  nothing  to  me,  Betty. 
God  knows  I  am  not  strong  enough  to  suffer 
two  defeats  in  one  night.  God  bless  you  and 
make  you  happy !" 

He  turned  and  took  a  few  steps  toward  the 
door. 

"If  it  were  not  defeat  .  .  .  if  it  were 
victory?"  she  said,  in  a  kind  of  whisper,  her 
hands  tense  on  the  back  of  her  chair. 

The  senator  came  in  about  midnight.  He 
found  his  daughter  asleep  in  a  chair  before  a 
half-dead  fire.  There  was  a  tender  smile  on 
her  lips.   He  touched  her  gently. 

159 


TWO      CANDIDATES 

"It  is  you,  daddy?"  Her  glance  traveled 
from  his  florid  countenance  to  the  clock. 
"Mercy!  I  have  been  dreaming  these  two 
hours." 

"What  do  you  suppose  Carrington  did  to- 
night?"— hghting  a  cigar. 

"What  did  he  do.?" 

"Came  into  the  club  and  congratulated 
Williard  publicly." 

"He  did  that.?"  cried  the  girl,  her  cheeks 
dyeing  exquisitely. 

"Did  it  like  a  man,  too."  The  senator 
dropped  into  a  chair.  "It  was  a  great  victory, 
my  girl." 

Betty  smiled.   "Yes,  it  was." 


160 


THE  ENCHANTED  HAT 

THE  ADVENTUEE  OF  MY  LADY's  LETTER 

It  was  half-after  six  when  I  entered  Mar- 
tin's from  the  Broadway  side.  I  chose  a  table 
by  the  north  wall  and  sat  down  on  the  cush- 
ioned seat.  I  ordered  dinner,  and  the  ample 
proportions  of  it  completely  hoodwinked  the 
waiter  as  to  the  condition  of  my  cardiac  afflic- 
tion: being,  as  I  was,  desperately  and  hope- 
lessly and  miserably  in  love.  Old  owls  say 
that  a  man  can  not  eat  when  he  is  in  love.  He 
can  if  he  is  mad  at  the  way  the  object  of  his 
affections  has  treated  him;  and  I  was  mad. 
To  be  sure,  I  can  not  recall  what  my  order 
was,  but  the  amount  of  the  waiter's  check  is 
still  vivid  to  my  recollection. 

I  glanced  about.  The  cafe  was  crowded, 
as  it  usually  is  at  this  hour.  Here  and  there  I 
caught  glimpses  of  celebrities  and  familiar 

161 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

faces:  journalists,  musicians,  authors,  artists 
and  actors.  This  is  the  time  they  drop  in  to 
be  pointed  out  to  strangers  from  out  of  town. 
It's  a  capital  advertisement.  To-night,  how- 
ever, none  of  these  interested  me  in  the  slight- 
est degree;  rather,  their  animated  counte- 
nances angered  me.  How  could  they  laugh 
and  look  happy ! 

At  my  left  sat  a  young  man  about  my  own 
age.  He  was  also  in  evening  dress.  At  my 
right  a  benevolent  old  gentleman,  whose  eye- 
glasses balanced  neatly  upon  the  end  of  his 
nose,  was  deeply  interested  in  The  Law  Jour- 
nal and  a  pint  of  mineral  water.  A  little  be- 
yond my  table  was  an  exiled  Frenchman,  and 
the  irritating  odor  of  absinthe  drifted  at 
times  across  my  nostrils. 

With  my  coifee  I  ordered  a  glass  of  Dant- 
zic,  and  watched  the  flakes  of  beaten  gold 
waver  and  settle ;  and  presently  I  devoted  my- 
self entirely  to  my  own  particularly  miserable 
thoughts.  .  .  .  To  be  in  love  and  in  debt ! 
To  be  with  the  gods  one  moment  and  hunted 
by  a  bill-collector  the  next!  To  have  the  girl 

162 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

you  love  snub  and  dismiss  you  for  no  more 
lucid  reason  than  that  you  did  not  attend  the 
dance  at  the  Country  Club  when  you  prom- 
ised you  would!  It  did  not  matter  that  you 
had  a  case  on  that  night  from  which  depended 
a  large  slice  of  your  bread  and  butter;  no, 
that  did  not  matter.  Neither  did  the  fact  that 
you  had  mixed  the  dates.  You  had  promised 
to  go,  and  you  hadn't  gone  or  notified  the 
girl  that  you  wouldn't  go.  Your  apologetic 
telegram  she  had  torn  into  halves  and  returned 
the  following  morning,  together  with  a  curt 
note  to  the  effect  that  she  could  not  value  the 
friendship  of  a  man  who  made  and  broke  a 
promise  so  easily.  It  was  all  over.  It  was 
a  dashed  hard  world.  How  the  deuce  do  you 
win  a  girl,  anyhow.'' 

Supposing,  besides,  that  you  possessed  a 
rich  uncle  who  said  that  on  the  day  of  your 
wedding  he  would  make  over  to  you  fifty 
thousand  in  Government  three  per  cents? 
Hard,  wasn't  it.''  Suppose  that  you  were 
earning  about  two  thousand  a  year,  and  that 
the  struggle  to  keep  up  smart  appearances 

163 


THE     EXCHAKTED     HAT 

a  keen  one.  Wouldn't  you  have  been 
eager  to  marry,  especially  the  girl  you  loved? 
A  man  can  not  buy  flowers  twice  a  week,  dine 
bef ose  and  take  supper  after  the  tibeater  twice 
a  week,  bdong  (and  pay  dues  and  house-ac- 
counts) to  a  country  dub,  a  town  dub  and 
keep  lespeclafale  bachelor  apartments  on  two 
thonsand  ...  and  save  anything.  And 
MippuM*  the  giri  was  indepoidentlj  rich? 
Hei^lk-ho! 

I  find  that  a  man  needs  more  money  in  love 
timn  he  does  in  debt.  This  is  not  to  say  that 
I  was  erer  Tcry  hard  pressed ;  but  I  hated  to 
paj  ten  dofiars  ''on  account*^  when  the  total 
was  onlj  twenty.  You  xmderstand  me,  don't 
yoQ?  If  yoa  don't,  somebody  who  reads  this 
wilL  Of  coarse,  the  girl  knew  nothing  about 
these  things.  A  yoong  man  always  falls  into 
the  fault  of  magnifying  his  earning  capacity 
to  the  ffA  he  loves.  You  see,  I  hadn't  told 
her  jet  that  I  hired  her,  though  I  was  stndy- 
mg  up  mndbodj  on  Moral  and  Physical 
Comage  for  that  purpose. 

And  now  it  was  all  over ! 

164 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

I  did  not  care  so  much  about  my  uncle's 
gold-bonds,  but  I  did  think  a  powerful  lot  of 
the  girl.  Why,  when  I  recall  the  annoyances 
Pre  put  up  with  from  that  kid  brother  of 
hers!     .     .     .     Pshaw,  what's  the  use? 

His  mother  called  him  "Toddy-One-Boy ," 
in  memory  of  a  book  she  had  read  long  years 
ago.  He  was  six  years  old,  and  I  never  think 
of  him  without  that  jingle  coming  to  mind : 

•*Little  Willie  choked  his  sister. 
She  was  dead  before  they  missed  her. 
Willie's  always  up  to  tricks. 
Ain't  he  cute,  he's  only  six  ?* 

He  had  the  face  of  a  Bouguereau  cherub, 
and  mild  blue  eyes  such  as  we  are  told  inhabit 
the  countenances  of  angels.  He  was  the  most 
innocent-looking  chap  you  ever  set  eyes  on. 
His  mother  called  him  an  angel;  I  should 
hate  to  tell  you  what  the  neighbors  called  him. 
He  lacked  none  of  that  subtile  humor  so  fa- 
miliar In  child-life.  Heavens!  the  deeds  I 
could  (if  I  dared)  enumerate.    They  turned 

165 


THE     EKCHAXTED     HAT 

him  loose  amcmg  the  comic  supplements  one 
Sunday,  and  after  that  it  was  all  over. 

Hadn't  he  emptied  his  grandma's  medicine 
capsaks  and  substituted  cotton?  And  hadn't 
dear  old  grandma  come  down  stairs  three  days 
later,  saying  that  she  felt  much  improved? 
Hadn't  he  beaten  out  the  brains  of  his  toy 
bank  and  bought  up  the  peanut  man  on  the 
comer?  Yes,  indeed!  And  hadn't  he  taken 
my  few  letters  from  his  sister's  desk  and 
played  postman  up  and  down  the  street  ?  His 
papa  thought  it  all  a  huge  joke  till  one  of 
the  nei^bors  brou^t  back  a  dunning  dress- 
maker's bin  that  had  lain  on  the  said  neigh- 
bor's porch-  It  was  altogether  a  different  mat- 
ter then-  Toddy-One-Boy  crawled  imder  the 
bed  that  night,  and  only  his  mother's  tears 
saved  him  from  a  hiding. 

AH  these  things  I  thought  over  as  I  sat  at 
my  table.  She  knew  that  I  would  have  gone 
had  it  been  possible.  Women  and  logic  are 
cmly  cousins  german.  Six  months  ago  I 
hadn't  been  in  love  with  any  one  but  myself, 
and  now  the  VirgO  of  love's  dream  was  lead- 

166 


THE     EXCHAXTED     HAT 

mg  me  like  a  new  Dante  through  his  Inferno, 
and  was  pointing  out  the  foster-brother  of 
Sisyphus  (if  he  had  a  foster-brother),  push- 
ing the  stone  of  my  lady's  favor  up  the  steeps 
of  Forlorn  Hope.  WeD,  I  would  go  up  to  the 
club,  and  if  I  didn't  get  home  till  mor-r-nin^ 
who  was  there  to  care? 

The  Frenchman  had  gone,  and  the  benevo- 
lent old  gentleman.  The  crowd  was  thinning 
out.  The  young  man  at  my  left  rose,  and  I 
rose  also.  We  both  stared  thoughtfully  at 
the  hat-rack.  There  hung  two  hats :  an  opera- 
hat  and  a  dilapidated  old  stovepipe.  The 
young  fellow  reached  up  and,  quite  naturally, 
selected  the  opera-hat.  He  glanced  into  it, 
and  immediately  a  wrinkle  of  annoyance  dark- 
ened his  brow.  He  held  the  hat  toward  me. 

**Is  this  yours?"  he  asked. 

I  looked  at  the  label. 

"No."  The  wrinkle  of  annoyance  sprang 
from  his  brow  to  mine.  My  opera-hat  had 
cost  me  eight  dollars. 

The  young  fellow  laughed  rather  lamdj. 
**Do  you  live  in  New  York.*"'  he  asked. 

167 


THE      ENCHANTED      HAT 

I  nodded. 

"So  do  I,"  he  continued ;  "and  yet  it  is  evi- 
dent that  both  of  us  have  been  neatly  caught." 
He  thought  for  a  moment,  then  brightened. 
"I'll  tell  you  what;  let's  match  for  the  good 
one." 

I  gazed  indignantly  at  the  rusty  stovepipe. 
"Done !"  said  I. 

I  lost ;  I  knew  that  I  should ;  and  the  young 
fellow  walked  off  with  the  good  hat.  Then, 
with  the  relic  in  my  hand,  a  waiter  and  myself 
began  a  systematic  search.  My  hat  was  no- 
where to  be  found.  How  the  deuce  was  I  to 
get  up  town  to  the  club.''  I  couldn't  wear  the 
old  plug;  I  wasn't  rich  enough  for  such  an 
eccentricity.  I  had  nothing  but  a  silk  hat  at 
the  apartment,  and  I  hated  it  because  it  was 
always  in  the  way  when  I  entered  carriages 
and  elevators. 

Angrily,  I  strode  up  to  the  cashier's  desk 
and  explained  the  situation,  leaving  my  ad- 
dress and  the  number  of  my  apartment;  my 
name  wasn't  necessary. 

Troubles  never  come  singly.    Here  I  had 

168 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

lost  my  girl  and  my  hat,  to  say  nothing  of 
my  temper — of  the  three  the  most  certain  to 
be  found  again.  I  passed  out  of  the  cafe, 
bareheaded  and  hotheaded.  I  hailed  a  cab  and 
climbed  in.  I  had  finally  determined  to  return 
to  my  rooms  and  study.  I  simply  could  not 
afford  to  be  seen  with  that  stovepipe  hat  either 
on  my  head  or  under  my  arm.  Had  I  been 
green  from  college  it  is  probable  that  I  should 
have  worn  it  proudly  and  defiantly.  But  I 
had  left  college  behind  these  six  years. 

Hang  these  old  duffers  who  are  so  absent- 
minded  !  For  I  was  confident  that  the  benevo- 
lent old  gentleman  was  the  cause  of  all  this 
confusion.  Inside  the  cab  I  tried  on  the  thing, 
just  to  get  a  picture  in  my  mind  of  the  old 
gentleman  going  it  up  Broadway  with  my 
opera-hat  on  his  head.  The  hat  sagged  over 
my  ears;  and  I  laughed.  The  picture  I  had 
conjured  up  was  too  much  for  my  anger, 
which  vanished  suddenly.  And  once  I  had 
laughed  I  felt  a  trifle  more  agreeable  toward 
the  world.  So  long  as  a  man  can  see  the  funny 
side  of  things  he  has  no  active  desire  to  leave 

169 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

life  behind;  and  laughter  does  more  to 
lighten  his  sorrows  than  sympathy,  which 
only  aggravates  them. 

After  all,  the  old  gentleman  would  feel  the 
change  more  sharply  than  I.  This  was,  in  all 
probability,  the  only  hat  he  had.  I  turned  it 
over  and  scrutinized  it.  It  was  a  genteel  old 
beaver,  with  an  air  of  respectability  that  was 
quite  convincing.  There  was  nothing  smug 
about  it,  either.  It  suggested  amiability  in 
the  man  who  had  recently  possessed  it.  It 
suggested  also  a  mild  contempt  for  public 
opinion,  which  is  always  a  sign  of  superior 
mentality  and  advanced  years.  I  began  to 
draw  a  mental  portrait  of  the  old  man.  He 
was  a  family  lawyer,  doubtless,  who  lived  in 
the  past  and  hugged  his  retrospections. 
When  we  are  young  there  is  never  any  van- 
ishing point  to  our  day-dreams.  Well,  well! 
On  the  morrow  he  would  have  a  new  hat,  of 
approved  shape  and  pattern;  unless,  indeed, 
he  possessed  others  like  this  which  had  fallen 
into  my  keeping.  Perhaps  he  would  soon  dis- 
cover his  mistake,  return  to  the  cafe  and  un- 

170 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

tangle  the  snarl.  I  sincerely  hoped  he  would. 
As  I  remarked,  my  hat  had  cost  me  eight  dol- 
lars. 

I  soon  arrived  at  my  apartments,  and  got 
into  a  smoking-jacket.  I  rather  delight  in 
lolling  around  in  a  dress-shirt ;  it  looks  so  hke 
the  pictures  we  see  in  the  fashionable  novels. 
I  picked  up  Blackstone  and  turned  to  his 
"promissory  notes."  I  had  two  or  three  out 
myself.  It  was  nine  o'clock  when  the  hall- 
boy's  bell  rang,  and  I  placed  my  ear  to  the 
tube.  A  gentleman  wished  to  see  me  in  regard 
to  a  lost  hat. 

"Send  him  up,  James;  send  him  up!"  I 
bawled  down  the  tube.  Visions  of  the  club  re- 
turned, and  I  tossed  Blackstone  into  a  corner. 

Presently  there  came  a  tap  on  the  door, 
and  I  flung  it  wide.  But  my  visitor  was  not 
the  benevolent  old  gentleman.  He  was  the 
Frenchman  whose  absinthe  had  offended  me. 
He  glanced  at  the  slip  of  paper  in  his  hand. 

"I  have  zee  honaire  to  address  zee — ah — 
gentleman  in  numbaire  six?" 

"I  Uve  here." 

in 


THE      ENCHANTED      HAT 

"Delight'!  We  have  meexed  zee  hats,  I 
have  zee  r-r-regret.  Ees  thees  your  hat?"  He 
held  out,  for  my  inspection,  an  opera-hat.  "I 
am  so  absent-mind* — what  you  call  deestrait  ?" 
— affably. 

I  took  the  hat,  which  at  first  glance  I 
thought  to  be  mine,  and  went  over  to  the  rack, 
taking  down  the  old  stovepipe. 

"This  is  yours,  then.'"'  I  said,  smiling. 

"Thousand  thanks,  m'sieu !  Eet  ees  certain 
mine.  I  have  zee  honaire  to  beg  pardon  for 
zee  confusion.  My  compliments!  Good 
night!" 

Without  giving  the  hat  a  single  glance,  he 
clapped  it  on  his  head,  bowed  and  disap- 
peared, leaving  me  his  card.  He  hadn't  been 
gone  two  minutes  when  I  discovered  that  the 
hat  he  had  exchanged  for  the  stovepipe  was 
not  mine.  It  came  from  the  same  firm,  but 
the  initials  proved  it  without  doubt  to  belong 
to  the  young  fellow  I  had  met  at  the  table.  I 
said  some  uncomplimentary  things.  Where 
the  deuce  was  my  hat.?  Evidently  the  benevo- 
lent old  gentleman  hadn't  waked  up  yet. 

172 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

Ting-a-ling!    It  was  the  boy's  bell  again. 

"Well?" 

"Another  man  after  a  hat.  What's  goin' 
on?" 

"Send  him  up !"  I  yelled.  It  came  over  me 
that  the  Frenchman  had  made  a  second  mis- 
take. 

I  was  not  disappointed  this  time  in  my  vis- 
itor. It  was  the  benevolent  old  gentleman. 
Evidently  he  had  not  located  his  hat  either, 
and  might  not  for  some  time  to  come.  I  be- 
gan to  believe  that  I  had  given  it  to  the 
Frenchman.    He  seemed  terribly  excited. 

"You  are  the  gentleman  who  occupies  num- 
ber six  ?" 

"Yes,  sir.  This  is  my  apartment.  You 
have  come  in  regard  to  a  hat?" 

"Yes,  sir.  My  name  is  Chittenden.  Our 
hats  got  mixed  up  at  Martin's  this  evening; 
my  fault,  as  usual.  I  am  always  doing  some- 
thing absurd,  my  memory  is  so  bad.  When  I 
discovered  my  mistake  I  was  calling  on  the 
family  of  a  client  with  whom  I  had  spent  most 
of  the  afternoon.    I  missed  some  valuable  pa- 

173 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

pers,  legal  documents.  I  believed  as  usual  that 
I  had  forgotten  to  take  them  with  me.  They 
were  nowhere  to  be  found  at  the  house.  My 
client  has  a  very  mischievous  son,  and  it  seems 
that  he  stuffed  the  papers  behind  the  inside 
band  of  my  hat.  With  them  there  was  a  letter. 
I  have  had  two  very  great  scares.  A  great 
deal  of  trouble  would  ensue  if  the  papers  were 
lost.  I  just  telephoned  that  I  had  located  the 
hat."    He  laughed  pleasantly. 

Good  heavens !  here  was  a  howdy-do. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Chittenden,  there  has  been 
a  great  confusion,"  I  faltered.  "I  had  your 
hat,  but — but  you  have  come  too  late." 

"Too  late.?"  he  roared,  or  I  should  say,  to 
be  exact,  shouted. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  have  you  done  with  it.?" 

"Not  five  minutes  ago  I  gave  it  to  a 
Frenchman,  who  seemed  to  recognize  it  as  his. 
It  was  the  Frenchman,  if  you  will  remember, 
who  sat  near  your  table  in  the  cafe." 

"And  this  hat  isn't  yours,  then.?" — help- 
lessly. 

174 


THE     ENCHAXTED     HAT 

"This"  was  a  flat-brimmed  hat  of  the  Paris 
boulevards,  the  father  of  all  stovepipe  hats, 
dear  to  the  Frenchman's  heart. 

"Candidly,  now,"  said  I  with  a  bit  of  ex- 
cusable impatience,  "do  I  look  like  a  man 
who  would  wear  a  hat  like  that?" 

He  surveyed  me  miserably  through  his 
eye-glasses. 

"No,  I  can't  say  that  you  do.  But  what  in 
the  world  am  I  to  do?"  He  mopped  his  brow 
in  the  ecstasy  of  anguish.  "The  hat  must  be 
found.  The  legal  papers  could  be  replaced, 
but  .  .  .  You  see,  sir,  that  boy  put  a 
private  letter  of  his  sister's  in  the  band  of  that 
hat,  and  it  must  be  recovered  at  all  hazards." 

"I  am  very  sorry,  sir." 

"But  what  shall  I  do?" 

**I  do  not  see  what  can  be  done  save  for  you 
to  leave  word  at  the  cafe.  The  Frenchman  is 
doubtless  a  frequenter,  and  may  easily  be 
found.  If  you  had  come  a  few  moments 
sooner     .     .     ." 

With  a  gurgle  of  dismay  he  fled,  leaving 
me  with  a  half-finished  sentence  hanging  on 

175 


THE      ENCHANTED      HAT 

my  lips  and  the  Frenchman's  chapeau  hang- 
ing on  my  fingers.  And  my  hat;  where  was 
my  hat?  (I  may  as  well  add  here,  in  paren- 
thesis, that  the  disappearance  of  my  eight- 
dollar  hat  still  remains  a  mystery.  I  have  had 
to  buy  a  new  one.) 

So  the  boy  had  put  a  letter  of  his  sister's  in 
the  band  of  the  hat,  I  mused.  How  like  her 
kid  brother !  It  seemed  that  more  or  less  fam- 
ilies had  Toddy-One-Boys  to  look  after. 
Pshaw !  what  a  muddle  because  a  man  couldn't 
keep  his  thoughts  from  wool-gathering ! 

Well,  here  I  had  two  hats,  neither  of  which 
was  mine.  I  could,  at  a  pinch,  wear  the  opera- 
hat,  as  it  was  the  exact  size  of  the  one  I  had 
lost.  But  what  was  to  be  done  with  the 
Frenchman's.?  .  .  .  Fool  that  I  was!  I 
rushed  over  to  the  table.  The  Frenchman  had 
left  his  card,  and  I  had  forgotten  all  about  it. 
And  I  hadn't  asked  the  benevolent  old  gentle- 
man where  he  lived.  The  Frenchman's  card 
read:  "M.  de  Beausire,  No. — ^Washington 
Place."  I  decided  to  go  myself  to  the  ad- 
dress, state  the  matter  to  Monsieur  de  Beau- 

176 


THE      ENCHANTED      HAT 

sire,  and  rescue  the  letter.  I  knew  all  about 
these  Toddy-One-Boys,  and  I  might  be  do- 
ing some  girl  a  signal  service. 

I  looked  at  my  watch.  It  was  closing  on  to 
ten.  So  I  reluctantly  got  into  my  coat  again, 
drew  on  a  topcoat,  and  put  on  the  hat  that 
fitted  me.  Probably  the  girl  had  been  writing 
some  fortunate  fellow  a  love-letter.  No  gen- 
tleman will  ever  overlook  a  chance  to  do  a 
favor  for  a  young  girl  in  distress.  I  had 
scarcely  drawn  my  stick  from  the  umbrella- 
jar  when  the  bell  rang  once  again. 

"Hello!"  I  called  down  the  tube.  Why 
couldn't  they  let  me  be  ? 

"Lady  wants  to  see  you,  sir." 

"A  lady!" 

"Yes,  sir.  A  real  lady;  I-a-d-y.  She  says 
she's  come  to  see  the  gentleman  in  number  six 
about  a  plug-hat.  What's  the  graft,  any- 
way ?" 

"A  plug-hat!" 

"Yes,  sir;  a  plug-hat.  She  seems  a  bit 
anxious.  Shall  I  send  her  up.-*  She's  a 
peach." 

177 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

"Yes,  send  her  up,"  I  answered  feebly 
enough. 

And  now  there  was  a  woman  in  the  case! 
I  wiped  the  perspiration  from  my  brow  and 
wondered  what  I  should  say  to  her.  A  woman. 
By  Jove !  the  sister  of  the  mischiev- 
ous boy!  Old  Chittenden  must  have  told  her 
where  he  had  gone,  and  as  he  hasn't  shown  up, 
she's  worried.  It  must  be  a  tremendously  im- 
portant letter  to  cause  all  this  hubbub.  So  I 
laid  aside  my  hat  and  waited,  tugging  and 
gnawing  at  my  mustache.  .  .  .  Had  the 
Girl  acted  reasonably  I  shouldn't  have  gone  to 
Martin's  that  night. 

How  easy  it  is  for  a  woman  to  hurt  the  man 
she  knows  is  in  love  with  her!  And  the  Girl 
had  hurt  me  more  than  I  was  willing  to  con- 
fess even  to  myself.  She  had  implied  that  I 
had  carelessly  broken  an  engagement. 

Soon  there  came  a  gentle  tapping.  Certain- 
ly the  young  woman  had  abundant  pluck.  I 
approached,  the  door  quickly,  and  flung  it 
open. 

The  Girl  herself  stood  on  the  threshold, 

178 


THE      ENCHANTED      HAT 

and  we  stared  at  each  other  with  bewildered 
eyes! 

n 

She  was  the  most  exquisite  creature  in  all 
the  wide  world ;  and  here  she  was,  within  reach 
of  my  hungry  arms ! 

"You?"  she  cried,  stepping  back,  one  hand 
at  her  throat  and  the  other  against  the  jamb 
of  the  door. 

Dumb  as  ever  was  Lot's  wife  (after  the 
turning-point  in  her  career),  I  stood  and 
stared  and  admired.  A  woman  would  instantly 
have  noticed  the  beauty  of  her  sables,  but  I 
was  a  man  to  whom  such  details  were  inconse- 
quent. 

"I  did  not  expect  .  .  .  that  is,  only 
the  number  of  the  apartment  was  given,"  she 
stammered.  "I  .  .  ."  Then  her  slender 
figure  straightened,  and  with  an  effort  she 
subdued  the  fright  and  dismay  which  had 
evidently  seized  her.  "Have  you  Mr.  Chitten- 
den's hat?" 

"Mr.  Chittenden's  hat?"  I  repeated,  with  a 
179 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

tingling  in  my  throat  similar  to  that  when 
you  hit  your  elbow  smartly  on  a  corner.  "Mr. 
Chittenden's  hat.?" 

"Yes ;  he  is  so  thoughtless  that  I  dared  not 
trust  him  to  search  for  it  alone.  Have  you  got 
it?" 

Heavens !  how  my  heart  beat  at  the  sight  of 
this  beautiful  being,  as  she  stood  there,  palpi- 
tating between  shame  and  anxiety!  She  was 
beautiful;  and  I  knew  instantly  that  I  loved 
her  better  than  anything  else  on  earth. 

"Mr.  Chittenden's  hat?"  I  continued,  as 
lucid  as  a  trained  parrot  and  in  tones  not 
wholly  dissimilar. 

"Can't  you  say  anything  more  than  that  ?" 
— impatiently. 

How  much  more  easily  a  woman  recovers 
her  poise  than  a  man,  especially  when  that 
man  gives  himself  over  as  tamely  as  I  did ! 

"Was  it  your  letter  he  was  seeking?"  I 
cried,  all  eagerness  and  excitement  as  this  one 
sane  thought  entered  my  head. 

"Did  he  tell  you  that  there  was  a  letter  in 
it?" — scornfully. 

180 


THE     ENCHAlsTED     HAT 

"Yes," — guiltily.  Heaven  only  knows  why 
I  should  have  had  any  sense  of  guilt. 

"Give  it  to  me  at  once," — imperatively. 

"The  hat  or  the  letter?"  Truly,  I  did  not 
know  what  I  was  about.  Only  one  thing  was 
plain  to  my  confused  mind,  and  that  was  the 
knowledge  that  I  wanted  to  put  my  arms 
around  her  and  carry  her  far,  far  away  from 
Toddy-One-Boy. 

*'Are  you  mad,  to  anger  me  in  this  fash- 
ion?" she  said,  balling  her  little  gloved  hands 
wrathfuUy.  Had  there  been  real  lightning  in 
her  eyes  I'd  have  been  dead  this  long  while. 
*'Do  you  dare  believe  that  I  knew  you  lived 
in  this  apartment?" 

"I     .     .     .     haven't  the  hat." 

"You  dared  to  search  it?" — drawing  her- 
self up  to  a  supreme  height,  which  was  some- 
thing less  than  five-feet-two. 

I  became  angry,  and  somehow  found  my- 
self. 

"I  never  pry  into  other  people's  affairs. 
You  are  the  last  person  I  expected  to  see  this 
night." 

181 


THE      ENCHANTED      HAT 

"Will  you  answer  a  single  question?  I 
promise  not  to  intrude  further  upon  your 
time,  which,  doubtless,  is  very  valuable.  Have 
you  either  the  hat  or  the  letter?" 

"Neither.  I  knew  nothing  about  any  letter 
till  Mr.  Chittenden  came.  But  he  came  too 
late." 

"Too  late  ?" — in  an  agonized  whisper. 

"Yes,  too  late.  I  had,  unfortunately,  given 
his  hat  to  another  gentleman  who  made  a 
trifling  mistake  in  thinking  it  to  be  his  own." 
Suddenly  my  manners  returned  to  me.  *'Will 
you  come  in?" 

"Come  in  ?  No !  You  have  given  the  hat  to 
another  man?  A  trifling  mistake!  He  calls 
it  a  trifling  mistake!" — addressing  the  heav- 
ens, obscured  though  they  were  by  the  thick- 
ness of  several  ceilings.  "Oh,  what  shall  I 
do?"  She  began  to  wring  her  hands,  and  when 
a  woman  does  that  what  earthly  hope  is  there 
for  the  man  who  looks  on  ? 

"Don't  do  that!"  I  implored.  "I'll  find  the 
hat."  At  a  word  from  her,  for  all  she  had 
trampled  on  me,  I  would  gladly  have  gone  to 

182 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

Honolulu  in  search  of  a  hat-pin.  "The  gentle- 
man left  me  his  card.  With  your  permission  I 
will  go  at  once  in  search  of  him." 

"I  have  a  cab  outside.    Give  me  the  ad- 
dress." 

"I  refuse  to  permit  you  to  go  alone." 

"You  have  absolutely  nothing  to  say  in  re- 
gard to  where  I  shall  or  shall  not  go." 

"In  this  one  instance.   I  shall  withhold  the 
address." 

How  her  eyes  blazed! 

"Oh,  it  is  easily  to  be  seen  that  you  do  not 
trust  me."  I  was  utterly  discouraged. 

"I  did  not  imply  that,"  with  the  least  bit" 
of  softening.    "Certainly  I  would  trust  you. 
But     .     .     ." 

"Well?" — as  laughingly  as  I  could. 

"I    must    be    the    one    to    take    out    that 
letter," — decidedly. 

"I  offer  to  bring  you  the  hat  untouched," 
I  replied. 

"I  insist  on  going." 

"Very  well ;  we  shall  go  together ;  under  no 
other  circumstances.   This  is  a  common  cour- 

183 


THE      ENCHANTED      HAT 

tesy  that  I  would  show  to  a  perfect  stran- 
ger." 

I  put  on  my  hat,  took  up  the  Frenchman's 
card  and  tile,  and  bowed  her  gravely  into  the 
main  hallway.  We  did  not  speak  on  the  way 
down  to  the  street.  We  entered  the  cab  in 
silence,  and  went  rumbling  off  southwest. 
When  the  monotony  became  positively  un- 
bearable I  spoke. 

"I  regret  to  force  myself  upon  you." 

No  reply. 

"It  must  be  a  very  important  letter." 

**To  no  one  but  myself," — with  extreme 
frigidity. 

"His  father  ought  to  wring  his  neck," — 
thinking  of  Toddy-One-Boy. 

"Sir,  he  is  my  brother !" 

"I  beg  your  pardon."  It  seemed  that  I 
wasn't  getting  on  very  well. 

We  bumped  across  the  Broadway  tracks. 
Once  or  twice  our  shoulders  touched,  and  the 
thrill  I  experienced  was  as  painful  as  it  was 
rapturous.  What  was  in  a  letter  that  she 
should  go  to  this  extreme  to  recall  it  ?  A  heat- 

184 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

flash  of  jealousy  went  over  me.  She  had  writ- 
ten to  some  other  fellow;  for  there  always  is 
some  other  fellow,  hang  him !  .  .  .  And 
then  a  grand  idea  came  into  my  erstwhile 
stupid  head.  Here  she  was,  alone  with  me  in 
a  cab.  It  was  the  opportunity  of  a  lifetime. 
I  could  force  her  to  listen  to  my  explanation. 

"I  received  your  note,"  I  began.  "It  was 
cruel  and  without  justice." 

Her  chin  went  up  a  degree. 

*'The  worst  criminal  is  not  condemned 
without  a  hearing,  and  I  have  had  none." 

No  perceptible  movement. 

"We  are  none  of  us  infallible  in  keeping 
appointments.  We  are  liable  to  make  mis- 
takes occasionally.  Had  I  known  that  Tues- 
day night  was  the  night  of  the  dance  I'd  have 
crossed  to  Jersey  in  a  rowboat." 

The  chin  remained  precipitously  inclined. 

*'I  am  poor,  and  the  case  involved  some  of 
my  bread  and  butter.  The  work  was  done  at 
ten,  and  even  then  I  did  not  discover  that  I 
had  in  any  way  affronted  you.  I  had  it  down 
in  my  note-book  as  Wednesday  night." 

185 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

The  lips  above  the  chin  curled  slightly. 

"You  see,"  I  went  on,  striving  to  keep  my 
voice  even-toned,  "my  uncle  is  rich,  but  I  ask 
;iio  odds  of  him.  I  live  entirely  upon  what  I 
earn  at  law.  It's  the  only  way  I  can  maintain 
my  individuality,  my  self-respect  and  inde- 
pendence. My  uncle  has  often  expressed  his 
desire  to  make  me  a  handsome  allowance,  but 
what  would  be  the  use  .  .  .  now.?" — 
bitterly. 

The  chin  moved  a  little.  It  was  too  dark  to 
see  what  this  movement  expressed. 

"It  seems  that  I  am  only  a  very  unfortu- 
nate fellow." 

"You  had  given  me  your  promise." 

"I  know  it." 

"Not  that  I  cared," — with  cat-like  cruelty ; 
"but  I  lost  the  last  train  out  while  waiting  for 
you.  Not  even  a  note  to  warn  me!  Not  the 
slightest  chance  to  find  an  escort!  When  a 
man  gives  his  promise  to  a  lady  it  does  not 
seem  possible  that  he  could  forget  it  .  .  . 
if  he  cared  to  keep  it." 

"I  tell  you  honestly  that  I  mixed  the  dates." 

186 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

How  weak  my  excuses  seemed,  now  that  they 
had  passed  my  hps ! 

"You  are  sure  that  you  mixed  nothing 
else?" — ironically.  (She  afterward  apolo- 
gized for  this.)  "It  appears  that  it  would 
have  been  better  to  come  alone." 

"I  regret  I  did  not  give  you  the  address." 

"It  is  not  too  late." 

"I  never  retreat  from  any  position  I  have 
taken." 

"Indeed.?" 

Then  both  our  chins  assumed  an  acute 
angle  and  remained  thus.  When  a  woman  is 
angry  she  is  about  as  reasonable  as  a  fright- 
ened horse;  when  a  man  is  angry  he  longs  to 
hit  something  or  smoke  a  cigar.  Imagine  my 
predicament ! 

When  the  cab  reached  Washington  Place 
and  came  to  a  stand  I  spoke  again. 

"Shall  I  take  the  hat  in,  or  will  you?" 

"We  shall  go  together." 

Ah,  if  only  I  had  had  the  courage  to  say: 
"I  would  it  were  for  ever !"  But  I  feared  that 
it  wouldn't  take. 

187 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

I  rang  the  bell,  and  presently  a  maid 
opened  the  door. 

"Is  Monsieur  de  Beausire  in  ?"  I  asked. 

"No,  sir,  he  is  not,"  the  maid  answered 
civilly. 

"Do  you  know  where  he  may  be  found  ?" 

"If  you  have  a  bill  you  may  leave  it," — 
frostily  and  with  sudden  suspicion. 

There  was  a  smothered  sound  from  behind 
me,  and  I  flushed  angrily. 

"I  am  not  a  bill-collector." 

"Oh ;  it's  the  second  day  of  the  month,  you 
know.   I  thought  perhaps  you  were." 

"He  has  in  his  possession  a  hat  which  does 
not  belong  to  him." 

"Good  gracious,  he  hasn't  been  stealing? 
I  don't  believe" — making  as  though  to  shut 
the  door. 

This  was  too  much,  and  I  laughed.  "No, 
my  girl;  he  hasn't  been  steahng.  But,  being 
absent-minded,  he  has  taken  another  man's 
hat,  and  I  am  bringing  his  home  in  hopes  of 
getting  the  one  he  took  by  mistake." 

"Oh !"   And  the  maid  laughed  shrilly. 

188 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

I  held  out  the  hat. 

"My  land!  that's  his  hat,  sure  enough.  I 
was  wondering  what  made  him  look  so  funny 
when  he  went  out." 

"Where  has  he  gone?"  came  sharply  over 
my  shoulder. 

"If  you  wiU  wait,"  said  the  maid  good- 
naturedly,  "I  will  inquire." 

We  waited.  So  far  as  I  was  concerned,  I 
hoped  he  was  miles  away,  and  that  we  might 
go  on  riding  for  hours  and  hours.  The  maid 
returned  soon. 

"He  has  gone  to  meet  the  French  consul  at 
Mouquin's." 

"Which  one?"  I  asked.  "There  are  two, 
one  down  and  one  up  town." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  You  can  leave  the 
hat  and  your  card." 

"Thank  you ;  we  shall  retain  the  hat.  If  we 
find  monsieur  he  will  need  it." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  the  maid  sympathetically. 
"He's  the  worst  man  you  ever  saw  for  forget- 
ting things.  Sometimes  he  goes  right  by  the 
house  and  has  to  walk  back." 

189 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

"Fm  sorry  to  have  bothered  you,"  said  I; 
and  the  only  girl  in  the  world  and  myself  re- 
entered the  cab. 

"This  is  terrible!"  she  murmured  as  we 
drove  off. 

"It  might  be  worse,"  I  replied,  thinking  of 
the  probable  long  ride  with  her:  perhaps  the 
last  I  should  ever  take ! 

"How  could  it  be!" 

I  had  nothing  to  offer,  and  subsided  for  a 
space. 

"If  we  should  not  find  him !" 

"I'll  sit  on  his  front  stoop  all  night  .  .  . 
Forgive  me  if  I  sound  flippant;  but  I  mean 
it."  Snow  was  in  the  air,  and  I  considered  it 
a  great  sacrifice  on  my  part  to  sit  on  a  cold 
stone  in  the  small  morning  hours.  It  looks 
flippant  in  print,  too,  but  I  honestly  meant  it. 
"I  am  sorry.  You  are  in  great  trouble  of  some 
sort,  I  know ;  and  there's  nothing  in  the  world 
I  would  not  do  to  save  you  from  this  trouble. 
Let  me  take  you  home  and  continue  the  search 
alone.  I'll  find  him  if  I  have  to  search  the 
whole  town." 

190 


THE      ENCHANTED      HAT 

*'We  shall  continue  the  search  together," 
— wearily. 

What  had  she  written  to  this  other  fellow  ? 
Did  she  love  some  one  else  and  was  she  afraid 
that  I  might  learn  who  it  was?  My  heart  be- 
came as  lead  in  my  bosom.  I  simply  could  not 
lose  this  charming  creature.  And  now,  haw 
was  I  ever  to  win  her.'* 

It  was  not  far  up  town  to  the  restaurant, 
and  we  made  good  time. 

*'Would  you  know  him  if  you  saw  him?" 
she  asked  as  we  left  the  cab. 

"Not  the  least  doubt  of  it," — confidently. 

She  sighed,  and  together  we  entered  the 
restaurant.  It  was  full  of  theater-going  peo- 
ple, music  and  the  hum  of  voices.  We  must 
have  created  a  small  sensation,  wandering 
from  table  to  table,  from  room  to  room,  the 
girl  with  a  look  of  dread  and  weariness  on  her 
face,  and  I  with  the  Frenchman's  hat  grasped 
firmly  in  my  hand  and  my  brows  scowling.  If 
I  hadn't  been  in  love  it  would  have  been  a  fine 
comedy.  Once  I  surprised  her  looking  toward 
the   corner  table   near  the   orchestra.     How 

191 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

many  joyous  Sunday  dinners  we  had  had 
there!  Heigh-ho! 

"Is  that  he?"  she  whispered,  clutching  my 
arm  of  a  sudden,  her  gaze  directed  to  a  near- 
by table. 

I  looked  and  shook  my  head. 

"No;  my  Frenchman  had  a  mustache  and 
a  goatee." 

Her  hand  dropped  listlessly.  I  confess  to 
the  thought  that  it  must  have  been  very  try- 
ing for  her.  What  a  plucky  girl  she  was !  She 
held  me  in  contempt,  and  yet  she  clung  to  me, 
patiently  and  unmurmuring.  And  I  had  lost 
her! 

"We  may  have  to  go  down  town.  .  .  . 
No !  as  I  live,  there  he  is  now !" 

"Where?"  There  was  half  a  sob  in  her 
throat. 

"The  table  by  the  short  flight  of  stairs 
.  .  .  the  man  just  lighting  the  cigarette. 
I'll  go  alone." 

"But  I  can  not  stand  here  alone  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  floor.     .     .     ." 

I  called  a  waiter.    "Give  this  lady  a  chair 

192 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

for  a  moment;"  and  I  dropped  a  coin  in  his 
palm.  He  bowed,  and  beckoned  for  her  to  fol- 
low. .  .  .  Women  are  always  writing 
fool  things,  and  then  moving  Heaven  and 
earth  to  recall  them. 

"Monsieur  de  Beausire?"  I  said. 

Beausire  glanced  up. 

"Oh,  eet  ees     .     .     .     I  forget  zee  name?" 

I  told  him. 

"I  am  delight' !"  he  cried  joyfully,  as  if  he 
had  known  me  all  my  life.  "Zee  chair;  be 
seat'     ...» 

"Thank  you,  but  it's  about  the  hats." 

"Hats.?" 

"Yes.  It  seems  that  the  hat  I  gave  you 
belongs  to  another  man.  In  your  haste  you 
did  not  notice  the  mistake.  This  is  your  hat," 
— producing  the  shining  tile. 

**Mon  Dieu!'*  he  gasped,  seizing  the  hat; 
"eet  ees  mine!  See!  I  bring  heem  from 
France;  zee  nom  ees  mine.  V*la!  And  I 
nevaire  look  in  zee  uzzer  hat!  I  am  pair- 
fickly  dumf ound' !"  And  his  astonishment  was 
genuine. 

193 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

"Where  is  the  other  hat:  the  one  I  gave 
you?"   I  was  In  a  great  hurry. 

"I  have  heem  here,"  reaching  to  the  vacant 
chair  at  his  side,  while  the  French  consul  eyed 
us  both  with  some  suspicion.  We  might  be 
lunatics.  Beausire  handed  me  the  benevolent 
old  gentleman's  hat,  and  the  burden  dropped 
from  my  shoulders.  "Eet  ees  stbch  a  meestake ! 
I  laugh;  eh?"  He  shook  with  merriment.  "I 
wear  two  hats  and  not  know  zee  meestake !" 

I  thanked  him  and  made  off  as  gracefully 
as  I  could.  The  girl  rose  as  she  saw  me  re- 
turning. When  I  reached  her  side  she  was 
standing  with  her  slender  body  inclined  to- 
ward me.  She  stretched  forth  a  hand  and  sol- 
emnly I  gave  her  Mr.  Chittenden's  hat.  I 
wondered  vaguely  if  anybody  was  looking  at 
us,  and,  if  so,  what  he  thought  of  us. 

The  girl  pulled  the  hat  hterally  inside  out 
in  her  eagerness ;  but  her  gloved  fingers  trem- 
bled so  that  the  precious  letter  fluttered  to  the 
floor.  We  both  stooped,  but  I  was  quicker.  It 
was  no  attempt  on  my  part  to  see  the  address ; 
my  act  was  one  of  common  politeness.   But  I 

194 


THE      ENCHANTED      HAT 

could  not  help  seeing  the  name.  It  was  my 
own! 

*'Give  it  to  me!"  she  cried  breathlessly. 

I  did  so.  I  was  not,  at  that  particular  mo- 
ment, capable  of  doing  anything  else.  I  was 
too  bewildered.  My  own  name!  She  turned, 
hugging  the  hat,  the  legal  documents  and  the 
letter,  and  hurried  down  the  main  stairs,  I  at 
her  heels. 

"Tell  the  driver  my  address;  I  can  return 
alone." 

"I  can  not  permit  that,"  I  objected  decid- 
edly. "The  driver  is  a  stranger  to  us  both.  I 
insist  on  seeing  you  to  the  door;  after  that 
you  may  rest  assured  that  I  shall  no  longer 
inflict  upon  you  my  presence,  odious  as  it 
doubtless  is  to  you." 

As  she  was  already  in  the  cab  and  could  not 
get  out  without  aid,  I  climbed  in  beside  her 
and  called  the  street  and  number  to  the  driver. 

"Legally  the  letter  is  mine ;  it  is  addressed 
to  me,  and  had  passed  out  of  your  keeping." 

"You  shall  never,  never  have  it!" — vehe- 
mently. 

195 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

"It  is  not  necessary  that  I  should,"  I  re- 
plied ;  "for  I  vaguely  understand." 

I  saw  that  it  was  all  over.  There  was  now 
no  reason  why  I  should  not  speak  my  mind 
fully. 

"I  can  understand  without  reading.  You 
realize  that  your  note  was  cruel  and  unlike 
anything  you  had  done,  and  your  good  heart 
compelled  you  to  write  an  apology ;  but  your 
pride  got  the  better  of  you,  and  upon  second 
thought  you  concluded  to  let  the  unmerited 
hurt  go  on." 

"Will  you  kindly  stop  the  driver,  or  shall 
I?" 

"Does  truth  annoy  you?" 

"I  decline  to  discuss  truth  with  you.  Will 
you  stop  the  driver.?" 

"Not  until  we  reach  Seventy-first  Street 
West." 

"By  what  right '' 

*'The  right  of  a  man  who  loves  you.  There, 
it  is  out,  and  my  pride  has  gone  down  the 
wind.  After  to-night  I  shall  trouble  you  no 
further.   But  every  man  has  the  right  to  tell 

196 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

one  woman  that  he  loves  her ;  and  I  love  you. 
I  loved  you  the  moment  I  first  laid  eyes  on 
you.  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  say  this  to  you  now 
because  I  perceive  how  futile  it  is.  What 
dreams  I  have  conjured  up  about  you!  Poor 
fool!  When  I  was  at  work  your  face  was  al- 
ways crossing  the  page  or  peering  up  from 
the  margins.  I  never  saw  a  fine  painting  that 
I  did  not  think  of  you,  or  heard  a  fine  piece 
of  music  that  I  did  not  think  of  your  voice." 

There  was  a  long  interval  of  silence;  block 
after  block  went  by.  I  never  once  looked  at 
her. 

"If  I  had  been  rich  I  should  have  put  it  to 
the  touch  some  time  ago;  but  my  poverty 
seems  to  have  been  fortunate ;  it  has  saved  me 
a  refusal.  In  some  way  I  have  mortally  of- 
fended you;  how,  I  can  not  imagine.  It  can 
not  be  simply  because  I  innocently  broke  an 
engagement." 

Then  she  spoke. 

"You  dined  after  the  theater  that  night 
with  a  comic-opera  singer.  You  were  quite 
at  liberty  to  do  so,  only  you  might  have  done 

197 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

me  the  honor  to  notify  me  that  you  had  made 
your  choice  of  entertainment." 

So  it  was  out!  Decidedly  it  was  all  over 
now.   I  never  could  explain  away  the  mistake. 

"I  have  already  explained  to  you  my  un- 
fortunate mistake.  There  was  and  is  no  harm 
that  I  can  see  in  dining  with  a  woman  of  her 
attainments.  But  I  shall  put  up  no  defense. 
You  have  convicted  me.  I  retract  nothing  I 
have  said.  I  do  love  you." 

I  was  very  sorry  for  myself. 

Cabby  drew  up.  I  alighted,  and  she  silently 
permitted  me  to  assist  her  down.  I  expected 
her  immediately  to  mount  the  steps.  Instead, 
she  hesitated,  the  knuckle  of  a  forefinger 
against  her  lips,  and  assumed  the  thoughtful 
pose  of  one  who  contemplates  two  courses. 

"Have  you  a  stamp .'"'  she  asked  finally. 

"A  stamp?" — blankly. 

"Yes ;  a  postage-stamp." 

I  fumbled  in  my  pocket  and  found,  luck- 
ily, a  single  pink  square,  which  I  gave  to  her. 
She  moistened  it  with  the  tip  of  her  tongue 
and     .     .     .     stuck  it  on  the  letter ! 

198 


THE     ENCHANTED     HAT 

"Now,  please,  drop  this  In  the  comer  box 
for  me,  and  take  this  hat  over  to  Mr.  Chit- 
tenden's— Sixty-ninth." 

"What " 

"Do  as  I  say,  or  I  shall  ask  you  to  return 
the  letter  to  me." 

I  rushed  off  toward  the  letter-box,  drew 
down  the  lid,  and  deposited  the  letter — my 
letter.  When  I  turned  she  was  running  up 
the  steps,  and  a  second  later  she  had  disap- 
peared. 

I  hadn't  been  so  happy  in  all  my  life ! 

Cabby  waited  at  the  curb. 

Suddenly  I  became  conscious  that  I  was 
holding  something  in  my  hand.  It  was  the 
benevolent  old  gentleman's  stovepipe  hat! 

I  pushed  the  button:  pushed  it  good  and 
hard.  Presently  I  heard  a  window  open  cau- 
tiously. 

"What  Is  it?"  asked  a  querulous  voice. 

"Mr.  Chittenden.?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  here's  your  hat !"  I  cried. 

THE    END 


A  LIST  of  IMPORTANT  FICTION 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


LOVE  IN  LIVERY 


THE  MAN 
ON  THE  BOX 


By  HAROLD  MacGRATH 
Author  of  The  Puppet  Crown  and  The  Grey  Cloak 


This  is  the  brightest,  most  sparkling  book  of  the 
season,  crisp  as  a  new  greenback,  telling  a  most 
absorbing  story  in  the  most  delightful  way.  There 
never  was  a  book  wh  ch  held  the  reader  more 
fascinated.  Albany  Times-Union 

The  best  novel  of  the  year. 

Seattle  Post-Intelligencer 

Satire  that  stops  short  of  caricature,  humor  that 
never  descends  to  burlesque,  sendment  that  is  too 
wholesome  and  gen«ine  to  vei  ge  upon  sentimentality , 
these  are  reasons  enough  for  liking  The  Man  on  the 
Box,  quite  aside  from  the  fact  thas  it  is  a  refreshing 
novelty  in  fiction.  New  Tork  Globe 

Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher 
1 2mo,  doth,  price,  $i>So 


The    Bobbs-Merrill    Company,    Indianapolis 


A  BOOK  TO  MAKE  THE  SPHINX  LAUGH 

IN  THE  BISHOP'S 
CARRIAGE 

By  MIRIAM  MICHELSON 


From  the  moment  when,  in  another  girl's  chin- 
chilla coat,  Nance  Olden  jumps  into  the  unknown 
carriage,  and,  snuggling  up  to  the  solemn  owner, 
calls  him  "Daddy,"  till  she  makes  her  final  bow, 
a  happy  wife  and  a  triumphant  actress,  she  holds 
your  fancy  captive  and  your  heart  in  thrall. 

If  jaded  novel  readers  want  a  new  sensadon,  they 
will  get  it  here.  Chicago  Tribune 

For  genuine,  unaffected  enjoyment,  read  the  ad- 
ventures of  this  dashing  desperado  in  petticoats. 

Philadelphia  Item 

It  is  beguiling,  bewitching,  bristling  wdth  origi- 
nality ;  light  enough  for  the  laziest  invalid  to  rest  his 
brain  over,  profound  enough  to  serve  as  a  sermon 
to  the  humanitarian.  San  Francisco  Bulletin 

Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher 
1 2mo,  cloth,  price,  1 1 .  50 


The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolit 


THE  LIFE  AND  LOVES  OF  LORD  BYRON 

THE 

CASTAWAY 


"  Three  great  men  ruined  in  one  year— a  king,  a  cad  and  a 
castaway. '  * — Byron. 

Bt  hallie  erminie  rives 

Author  of  Hearts  Courageous 


Lord  Byron's  personal  beauty,  nis  brilliancy,  his 
genius,  his  possession  of  a  title,  his  love  affairs,  his 
death  in  a  noble  cause,  all  make  him  the  most  mag- 
netic figure  in  English  literature.  In  Miss  Rives' s 
novel  the  incidents  of  his  career  stand  out  in  ab* 
sorbing  power  and  enthralling  force. 

The  most  profoundly  sympathetic,  vivid  and  true 
portrait  of  Byron  ever  drawn. 
Calvin  Dill  Wilson,  author  of  Byron — Man  and  Poet 

Dramatic  scenes,  thrilling  incidents,  strenuous 
events  follow  one  another;  pathos,  revenge  and 
passion ;  a  strong  love ;  and  through  all  these,  under 
all  these,  is  the  poet,  the  man,  George  Gordon. 

Grand  Rapids  Herald 

With  eight  illustrations  in  color  by 

Howard  Chandler  Christy 

1 2mo,  cloth,  price,  1 1 .  oo  everywhere 

The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A  ROMANCE  OF  AMERICAN  CHIVALRY 

THE  LAW 
OF  THE  LAND 

Of  Miss  Lady,  whom  it  involved  in  mystery,  and  of 

John  Eddring,  gentleman  of  the  South, 

who  read  its  deeper  meaning 

By  EMERSON  HOUGH,  Author  of  The  Misassippi  Bubble 


Romantic,  unhackneyed,  imaginative,  touched 
with  humor,  full  p^  spirit  and  dash. 

Chicago  Record  Herald 

So  virile,  so  strong,  so  full  of  the  rare  qualities  of 
beauty  and  truth.  New  Tork  Press 

A  powerful  novel,  vividly  presented.  The  action 
is  rapid  and  dramatic,  and  the  romance  holds  the 
reader  with  irresistible  force. 

Detroit  Tribune 

Pre-eminently  superior  to  any  literary  creation  of 
the  day.  Its  naturalness  places  it  on  the  plane  of 
immortality.  Neio  Tork  American 

Illustrated  by  Arthur  I.  Keller 
1 2mo,  cloth,  price,  ;^  i .  50 


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HEARTS,    GOLD   AND   SPECULATION 


BLACK   FRIDAY 


By  FREDERIC  S.  ISHAM 
Author  of  The  Strollers  and  Under  the  Rose 


There  is  much  energy,  much  spirit,  in  this 
romance  of  the  gold  corner.  Distinctly  an  opulent 
and  animated  tale.  New  York  Sun 


Black  Friday  fasdnates  by  its  compelling  force 
and  grips  by  its  human  intensity.  No  better  or 
more  absorbing  novel  has  been  published  in  a  decade. 

Newark  Advertiser 


The  love  story  is  handled  with  infinite  skill.  The 
pictures  of  "the  street"  and  its  thrilling,  pulsating 
life  are  given  with  rare  power. 

Boston  Herald 


Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher 
l2mo,  cloth,  price,  ^1.50 


The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A  THOROUGHBRED  GIRL 


ZELDA  DAMERON 


By  MEREDITH  NICHOLSON 
Author  of  The  Main  Chance 


Zelda  Dameron  is  in  all  ways  a  splendid  and 
successful  story.  There  is  about  it  a  sweetness,  a 
wholesomcness  and  a  sturdincss  that  will  commend 
it  to  earnest,  kindly  and  wholesome  people. 

Boston  Transcript 

The  whole  story  is  thoroughly  American.  It  is 
lively  and  breezy  throughout — a  graphic  description 
of  a  phase  of  life  in  the  Middle  West. 

TokJo  Blade 

A  love  story  of  a  peculiarly  iweet  and  attractive 
sort, — the  interpretation  of  a  girl's  life,  the  revelation 
of  a  human  heart.  New  Orleans  Picayune 


With  portraits  of  the  characters  in  color 

By  John  Cecil  Clay 

izmo,  cloth,  price,  %\.lo 


The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A  ROMANCE  OF   LOVE  AND  POLITICS 

THE 
PLUM   TREE 

A  New  Novel 

By  DAVID  GRAHAM  PHILLIPS 

Author  of  "The  Cost,"  "Golden  Fleece,"  Etc. 

In  this  new  novel  the  author  of  '*  The  Cost  ** 
sounds  a  trumpet  call  to  American  patriotism  and 
integrity. 

First  and  last  "The  Plum  Tree  "  is  a  love  story 
of  the  highest  order — interesting,  ennobling,  puri- 
fying. 

Senator  Depcw  says:  "Well  written  and  dra- 
matic, as  might  be  expected  from  the  pen  of 
Phillips." 

Senator  Frye  says:  "  A  wonderful  story  of 
American  political  life." 

Senator  Beveridge  says:  **  Plot,  action,  color, 
vitality,  make  'The  Plum  Tree'  thrilling." 

Drawings  by  E.  M.  Ashe 
Bound  in  Cloth,  i2mo,  ^1.50 


The  Bobbs- Merrill  Com-piny,  Indianapolis 


*'AN   ADMIRABLE    TALE." 

THE 

MILLIONAIRE 

BABY 

By  anna  KATHARINE  GREEN 
Author  of  "The  Filigree  Ball" 

'*  This  Stirring,  this  absorbing,  this  admirable 
tale."  New  York  Sun 

*' A  thrillingly  sensational  piece  of  fiction — *The 
Millionaire  Baby. '  "  St.  Paul  Pioneer  Press 

**  Certain  to  keep  you  up  to  the  wee  sma' 
hours. ' '  Chicago  Journal 

*♦  Handled  with  consummate  dexterity,  adroit- 
ness and  fertility  of  invention."       Brooklyn  Times 

*'  A  detective  story  that  is  a  detective  story." 

Judge 

*' One  reads  from  page  to  page  with  breathless 
interest."  New  York  Times 

"  The  reader  is  kept  in  a  state  of  tiptoe  expec- 
tation from  chapter  to  chapter."        Boston  Herald 

"Anna  Katharine  Green  shows,  in  'The  Mil- 
lionaire Baby,'  a  fertility  of  brain  simply  marvel- 
ous. ' '  Philadelphia  Item 

Beautifully  Illustrated  by  A.  I.  Keller 
I  zmo,  $1.50 

The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


RJJO 

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405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


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